To Save a Life
by hairyhen
Summary: One year after the conclusion of book five, Harry and Ginny begin to discover what it can mean to save the life of another, as they learn to live for the future in the face of hopeless despair. Story has been discontinued.
1. Ginny and the Snitch

**To Save a Life**  
_A Harry Potter story by hairyhen_

_Chapter 1: Ginny and the Snitch_

"Hey, Harry! I'm heading back to the castle. You coming?"

Above the Quidditch pitch, Harry looked around from his Firebolt and saw Ron flying towards him. He considered for a moment, then shook his head. "You go ahead. I want to stay out here a bit longer."

It was a beautiful evening late in May of their sixth year. The sun shone red on the horizon, and a cool breeze swept through Harry's hair. Ron grinned at him.

"Well, don't be too late. Or else I might have to give you a detention, you know," he smirked, indicating his Prefect badge.

"More like Hermione would give him detention, don't you think?" spoke up Ginny, smiling slightly as she pulled up next to Harry on her broom. "And then you could put her in detention, too." Ron looked flabbergasted.

"Give _her_ a detention?" he sputtered, appearing shocked at the very idea. "What, for putting homework over Quidditch? I mean, I know she's mental about that stuff--"

"For abusing her authority," Ginny said, "in punishing Harry too harshly."

Harry snorted at this. It was true that he should have been in the common room revising for his exams, which were due to start in a few weeks. He was worried about Potions in particular, as Snape's NEWT-level class was far more difficult than any year previous. Snape himself had achieved an all-time level of vindictive unfairness, as he had been supremely annoyed that Harry had managed to place into the class, and it was only through extremely persistent and meticulous work that Harry had been able to keep up at all.

With the workload so overwhelming, he and Ron had decided to take the evening off completely, opting to play Quidditch instead, and Ginny had joined them. Hermione, of course, had elected to remain in the library.

"Yeah right," said Ron, shaking his head. "We really did need a night off. Honestly, you'd think we're throwing away our futures, just having fun for once . . ."

He trailed off, shrugging. "Well, I'm off. We've got a prefect meeting in half an hour. Hermione would probably curse me if I missed it," he said. "See you later, mate."

"Later," called Harry, as Ron descended to the ground and began to walk back towards the castle. Harry watched him go for a moment, then turned his broom in midair to face Ginny, who was still hovering next to him, her hair swaying gently in the wind. "How late do you want to stay out?" he asked.

"Not too late," Ginny replied with a small sigh. "I really should look at my Transfiguration notes before I go to bed, at least. What with the OWLs coming up, and all." Harry nodded, remembering all too clearly the craze that had been OWL revision.

They spent the next ten minutes playing with the Quaffle, flying about the pitch and tossing it around. Ginny seemed to enjoy throwing him exceptionally difficult passes, and he was having to work very hard to catch it each time.

"What was that?" demanded Harry, glaring at her as he returned from an especially steep dive after the Quaffle, which she had apparently hurled as far from him as she possibly could.

"Just making sure our star Seeker stays on his toes," Ginny said with a grin.

"Oh yeah? We'll see how you do catching the Snitch against me," Harry shot back, struggling to hide his own smile.

He was baiting her, not really expecting her to take him up on it, as they both knew who was the better Seeker, but to his surprise Ginny merely raised an eyebrow and said, "You're on. But you'd better give it your damnedest, because I know I will be!"

Harry laughed at that, and flew down to retrieve the Golden Snitch from the crate of Quidditch balls on the ground. He marvelled at how unfazed she was by his challenge. But then, nothing seemed to faze her anymore, he mused, as he returned the Quaffle to its place. Ginny had become quite a strong and capable girl in the time he had known her. He thought suddenly of how she had been when he had first seen her at the Burrow, back before his second year, and was amazed by how much she had changed since then.

_But then, I barely knew her_, he thought, _and she never talked in front of me. Maybe she hasn't really changed at all_. Harry found himself wishing she had talked in front of him earlier, for he had never really known what a fun person she was to be around until this year.

Then he remembered why it was that she had never talked in front of him, and his insides gave a sudden jolt.

Her voice interrupted his thoughts. "Are we going to do this, or are you going to sit there staring all day?" she asked, a note of amusement in her voice.

Harry flushed, realising that he had been staring at her with the Snitch clutched in his hand for some time. Mentally shaking himself, he mounted his broom and flew back up to her, casting her an appraising eye. "We're doing it--if you're sure you're up to facing the star Seeker," he told her with a cheeky grin. Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Careful, Harry, or your broom won't be able to move with that fat head on it," she said coolly. Harry felt a stab of worry--surely she didn't think him arrogant?

Then she smiled, and immediately his fears were disarmed. He held up the Snitch. "We'll give it a ten-second head start, then," he said, and Ginny nodded. He released the Snitch, counted aloud to ten, and then they were off.

Harry had half-expected her to follow him, in hope of deflecting him from the Snitch once it had been spotted, but Ginny did no such thing. Instead she tore off in the opposite direction, circling the goalposts before soaring away to sweep the middle of the pitch. Clearly she was intent on finding it entirely on her own. Several times she darted by him with a grin, and Harry felt his heart beat faster. He wondered if she were trying deliberately to distract him.

After a few minutes of fruitless searching, a sudden movement caught Harry's eye--he turned to see Ginny diving at high speed in a nearly vertical plunge towards the ground, her brilliant red hair trailing behind her as she went. She had seen the Snitch! Quickly he leaned low on his Firebolt and sped down after her, his fringe flattened back over his head.

He could just see a tiny shimmer of gold just over the ground. Ginny was closing in on the Snitch. He urged his Firebolt onward, and the wind rushed through his hair as he swept towards his quarry. Soon he was pulling even with her. The Snitch was right in front of his face--he reached out to grab it--

From out of nowhere, a hand reached in front of his face, and his own hand was knocked away. "What the--?" he started, swerving wildly to avoid a collision, nearly unseated from his broom. He turned his head to see Ginny alongside him--and she was firmly grasping the struggling Snitch.

Harry stared at her in shock. Ginny smirked at him. "If you want the Snitch, Harry, you'll have to come and get it!" she called cheerfully over her shoulder, as she zoomed away across the pitch at high speed.

For a moment he could do nothing but stare after her, completely floored by her audacity. Then a grin spread over his face. _Well, two can play at_ this _game_, he thought. With his Firebolt's superior speed and manoeuvrability, he ought to be able catch her in seconds . . . He leaned forward and sped after her.

She saw him coming, of course, and must have known she couldn't match him. But a moment later he was surprised to see that she was leaving the Quidditch pitch entirely--and heading directly for the Forbidden Forest. Harry hesitated, then flew after her. What was she doing? Was she really willing to risk a detention, and possibly worse, just for the sake of their competition?

Suddenly he realised that she was no longer in his sight. Where had she disappeared to? He inhaled sharply, shivering with a rising sense of alarm and worry. It would be getting dark soon; it wasn't safe in the forest, and they had to be getting back to the castle. There was no sign of Ginny. Where was she?

_There_--he spotted her, weaving through the trees to his right. The look of challenge on her face drove all thoughts of worry from his mind, and he tore after her in pursuit. Ginny cut her altitude, dodging quickly between the large branches nearer the ground. The Firebolt's speed was becoming a disadvantage in the confined space of the forest--there was almost no manoeuvring room at all. Thought she'd play tricky, did she? Well, he could do that . . . he'd surprise her . . .

He angled his broom down and away from her to skim along the forest floor. Ginny slowed, looking around to see where he had gone. As her eyes found his, he aimed the Firebolt right towards her and sped upwards. They were going to collide--

Wide-eyed, Ginny tried to move out of the way, but Harry changed course to follow her with lightning speed. Soon he was right next to her, and he reached out to grab her, his arm encircling her waist. But in doing so he had overextended himself . . . and even as Ginny shrieked in surprise and tried to pull away, he slid too far, reflexively tightening his grip on her, and the two of them went plummeting from their brooms to the forest floor below.

It was not a long drop, fortunately, or they might have broken their necks. But even so, they hit the ground with a thud and went rolling, both of them laughing aloud at the sheer absurdity of it all--and coming painfully to a halt against the trunk of a large tree. He soon became aware that he was lying directly on top of Ginny, her hand clutched in his; he could feel the Snitch beating its wings uselessly against their grips. Harry found himself looking into her eyes. She was breathing rather heavily, and there was a small cut on the side of her face.

"You caught me," she whispered, gazing up at him, her brown eyes shining with a light he had not seen before. Her hair was dishevelled and tangled with leaves, and her face was smudged with dirt, yet Harry thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. His breath caught in his throat.

"Yeah," he said softly, his voice sounding odd in his ears. He continued to stare at her, increasingly aware of her breath fluttering lightly on his face, of her heart beating rapidly against his, of the way her lips were parted . . . A low murmur escaped him, and his head was slowly lowering towards hers . . .

"So, you just making yourself comfortable, then?" she asked. Her tone was teasing, but her voice was breathless and tinged with something else Harry could not identify. He started at her words.

"Oh, err, sorry," he mumbled, suddenly realising how awkward their position was. Slowly, and somewhat clumsily, he pushed himself up and off her, moving to sit with his back against the tree they had crashed into. Ginny groaned softly, getting unsteadily to her feet and perching tentatively on a tree root by his side.

"So, erm," Harry said uncomfortably, not really knowing what to say. He could not recall ever feeling so awkward around her before--not like this.

"Harry, I . . ." she trailed off, not meeting his gaze. A faint blush had appeared on her cheeks. Harry cleared his throat.

"Ginny, I shouldn't have--" he began, but she cut him off.

"It's all right, Harry," she said quietly, looking at him with a faint smile. "It's my fault, really; I wasn't thinking about what I was doing." Her smile widened slightly, and she put her hand in his; she was still holding the Snitch.

Harry smiled back at her. "So who won, then?" he asked, and Ginny laughed.

"I guess we'll call it a tie," she answered. "Since we both got it."

"What is it with you and catching the Snitch from under people's noses, anyway? I mean, you did it twice last year--"

Ginny giggled. "I guess I just see things that other people don't."

Harry stared at her in bewilderment. "What are you talking about?"

"Well, you can't see things too well when they're under your nose, can you?"

He chuckled at this. "I guess not." He smiled, regarding her thoughtfully. _Under your nose_ . . .

* * *

A silence descended over them, punctuated by the call of an animal somewhere in the forest. Ginny moved to sit closer to him. "Well, I'm exhausted from all this flying. I guess we can wait a bit to head back. It's not like Ron will miss us, anyway. Not when he's got Hermione to occupy him." She shook her head.

"What do you mean?" Harry asked.

"The way those two argue sometimes, it drives me mad. I almost wish they'd just snog and have done--then maybe they'd shut up for a while."

"What?" Harry sputtered in surprise. What was she talking about? Hermione and Ron, snogging? The idea was crazy, but--

"Harry, don't tell me you've never seen the way they look at each other these days. In between the arguments, that is," she added, rolling her eyes.

"Hmm," he said vaguely, frowning. It was extremely odd, and more than a little disturbing, to think of his best friends in that context. But now that she mentioned it . . . they _had_ seemed increasingly comfortable around each other all year, with Ron backing off some of the teasing about homework and Viktor Krum, and Hermione rarely calling him pathetic or insensitive. Their arguments had become less frequent, but tended to be all the more intense when they did occur. He supposed an attraction between them made sense, in a way, though if anything did happen it would certainly take some getting used to.

"So are they the topic for all the Gryffindor girl gossip?" Harry asked.

Ginny snorted. "Not really. Not that I would know--I'm not big on gossip."

"You've probably heard more than I have. I mean, well, you know more girls than I do," he finished, a bit awkwardly.

"Oh, so you want me to give you the low-down on all the gossip I've heard?" she asked with a wicked smile. "All the cute blokes, and all that?"

"Erm . . ."

"Well," she said brightly, ignoring his less-than-enthusiastic response, "lots of girls fancy Dean Thomas. Only he doesn't know it," she giggled. "Because they're all younger than he is, and they don't actually talk to him."

"Dean?" Harry gulped. He had seen her hanging out with Dean sometimes, but that had been a long time ago, and he wasn't sure what exactly had come of it, if anything.

A briefly raised eyebrow was the only sign that Ginny had noticed his discomfort. "And then there's Neville," she went on, not losing stride. "Luna told me she has a bit of a thing for him. But he doesn't have a clue--imagine what he'd do if he found out." Harry laughed slightly in spite of himself, for Neville's reaction would certainly be interesting. Luna _was_ a bit, well . . . out there.

"And then," said Ginny in a conspiratorial whisper, pausing dramatically, "there's _Professor Snape_."

"WHAT!" Harry ejaculated, staring at her in utmost shock. "Snape? That's . . ." he trailed off.

"Horrible? I know," she laughed. "Katie Bell told me she had a dream about snogging him in detention last year. Just imagine," she said, adopting a lovesick voice, _"'O Professor, that greasy hair is_ so _sexy. Won't you let me run my fingers through it, Professor?'"_ She broke off in a peal of laughter, then added, "I bet he's even got grease on his--"

"Ginny!" Harry burst out, snorting in laughter himself. "I didn't need to hear that. I'll never be able to look at him the same way again."

Ginny grinned. "Sorry," she said, not sounding sorry at all. "You asked."

"Did not!"

She ignored this. "I doubt even the giant squid would want to kiss him in real life," she said with a shudder.

Harry shook his head at this, but then he paused. _The giant squid_ . . .

He looked away. Suddenly it didn't seem so funny anymore.

A slight breeze swept over them, and he shifted, uncomfortably aware of how close they were sitting. A vague but unmistakable tension had come between them. Part of him felt a desire to be alone, but he didn't move.

"Harry? What's wrong?" Ginny asked uncertainly, breaking the awkward silence. When he did not reply, she went on, "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable--"

"It's not that," he cut her off.

"What is it, then?" She was regarding him intently, a guarded look on her face.

"It's nothing," he told her brusquely, his irritation rising. Couldn't she see he didn't want to talk about it--?

Ginny rolled her eyes. "Rubbish," she said, her voice suddenly forceful. "Don't give me that. I'm only asking if I can help. But if you're going to be rude--" She made to get up from her seat next to him.

Harry let out a breath, holding up a hand to silence her. "I'm sorry," he said, and Ginny slowly sat back down, waiting for him to continue. "I didn't mean to be rude. It's just that . . ." He trailed off, frowning, wondering how much he should tell her.

"What?" she asked quietly, looking at him with concern, all trace of anger gone from her voice. Harry took a deep breath.

"Last year, during Occlumency lessons, I . . . found out some things," he began. "Things about Snape. He--he had a rough time of it when he was younger. My father--I've always known they hated each other, but until last year I didn't know just how much of it was my dad's fault. He and Sirius, they . . . pushed him around a lot. Just because they could. I mean, Snape was a berk back then, too, but . . ." He swallowed uncomfortably. It was difficult to talk about this.

Ginny's eyes widened in comprehension. "Is that why Snape doesn't like you? Because he hated your dad for . . . pushing him around?" Harry nodded.

She was silent for a moment. "Well, I didn't know any of that. I guess it makes it a bit easier to understand why he turned out how he did. But still, you can't deny he's ridiculous to hold a grudge against you for something that happened before you were even born."

"I know," sighed Harry. "I mean, they really gave him a hard time, and I know what it's like to be humiliated--but he's still the most horrible git I've ever met. Dunno how I'd have ever got through Potions this year if I didn't know Occlumency."

"It's weird, to find out that Sirius did that sort of thing as a kid," Ginny said pensively. "I knew he and Snape didn't like each other, but I never knew why." She paused a moment, then went on, "And it must have been hard for you, to find that out about your dad--"

"Yeah," Harry said, heavily. "But I guess . . . I don't know. Sirius always said how much I'm like my dad--that used to make me feel proud, but now . . . I don't know . . .

"But Sirius told me they were just being immature, normal really, for their age." He sighed again, glancing away from her. "I guess I can kind of see what he meant--I mean, I wasn't very mature last year, was I--"

"No," she smiled, laying a hand on his arm. "But you're still a good person. And you always have been," she added, and somehow he couldn't help but smile back. "So there's no reason why your dad and Sirius weren't good people too. They grew up, eventually."

"That's what he and Professor Lupin told me," Harry said thoughtfully. "I guess I didn't really understand--at least, not as well. I was really upset, then."

Ginny gave him a shrewd glance. "Was that when you wanted to talk to him so badly last year?" she asked, and he nodded. Suddenly he remembered.

"You helped me with that, last year. You told Fred and George that I needed help. I don't think I ever thanked you for that."

Ginny smiled slightly and looked him in the eye. "You don't need to thank me, Harry," she said softly. "I'll always be ready to help you."

For a few seconds she held his gaze, her eyes full of warmth and understanding. Then, moving to sit even closer, she gently laid her head on his shoulder, her long hair spilling onto his robes. Harry hesitated, then slowly put his arm around her. Ginny did not protest, and he relaxed, a feeling of peace and contentment running through him.

A comfortable silence fell. Around them it was quickly growing darker, but Harry barely noticed, for his thoughts were occupied entirely with the beautiful girl sitting next to him.

Part of him could scarcely believe he was here with her like this. Certainly he had not imagined, when he had first begun to see her as more than just Ron's sister, that he would come to feel this way about her. Due to the work and schedule conflicts of their respective OWL- and NEWT-level classes, and Harry's extra lessons with Dumbledore, they had not been able to be alone together very often; as a result, moments like this were all the more precious to him, for he had come to look forward to spending time with her. Their friendship was new and exciting; strong and yet so different from the way he felt about Ron and Hermione.

And so different, too, from the way he had felt about Cho.

The realisation that he had moved beyond considering her a friend and into something else entirely thrilled and excited him. Yet he was also filled with doubt and unease; for he had never broached the subject with her directly, and had no idea how to go about doing that. While he hadn't been paying much attention at the time, the memory of a conversation with Hermione in Hogsmeade last year had stayed with him: Ginny had been going out with that Michael Corner bloke, having given up on Harry ever being interested in her, which was why she no longer blushed or became mute in his presence. Never having been particularly close to her to begin with, he hadn't really noticed at first; and with other matters on his mind, had hardly given it a second thought.

Now, though . . .

He grimaced, his mind filled with the horrible clarity of hindsight. He'd been making such a fuss over Cho that until Ron's misguided attempt at matchmaking before the Yule Ball, he hadn't even considered going with Ginny--at which point it must have become obvious to her that he would never reciprocate her feelings. Of course she would have given up on him after that mess! While she'd certainly never showed any inclination to hold it against him, it seemed unlikely she would ever think of him in a romantic context again. She'd long since focused her attention elsewhere . . . and now here he was, two years later, starting to think of her as much more than just a friend? _Brilliant, such brilliant timing I've got_, he thought.

Beside him, Ginny stirred slightly as a breeze caught her hair; he could feel it tickling his face. She felt pleasantly warm against him. He took a deep breath, and thought he heard her give a soft sigh.

But did his timing really matter? Harry knew that she was not indifferent to him. If their current position was any indication, she enjoyed his company very much indeed . . .

As he recalled lying on top of her after they had fallen from their brooms, he was startled to realise just how much he was attracted to her. Ginny was so beautiful, and he had been about to kiss her . . . and he thought she had felt his presence, too. Her heart had been hammering against his, her voice low and breathless, her skin flushed with anticipation--she had definitely felt something. It was an exciting thought . . . and a frightening one.

He shifted slightly in discomfort, unconsciously hugging her closer; tried to relax as Ginny made a small noise in her throat. Had it merely been their proximity that caused her to respond to him earlier? Or was there more to it than that?

And if she did still have feelings for him--what then? He had to admit to himself that he had little idea what a real romance was supposed to involve. He thought of all the couples he had seen in Hogsmeade, recalled his own woefully inept efforts with Cho--was it really worth that sort of hassle? Did Hogsmeade dates and valentines even matter? Silently he cursed the expectations and rituals of the dating world. He didn't need that sort of thing to be happy with Ginny--the two of them could laugh and have fun no matter what they were doing, even if it was just sitting here in the forest. Wasn't that what really mattered? Harry thought it was; and yet, he thought he wanted more than that. Would it be worth the risk to tell her how he felt?

Was anything worth the risk, with Voldemort around, and the threat of death always looming over them?

"Harry!" A loud voice cut through the silence. He jumped, startled, and looked around for the source of the interruption. It was not hard to find.

"What do yeh think yer doin' out here?" boomed Hagrid, towering over them as he approached. Fang came trotting along beside him, making a beeline for Harry and licking his face affectionately. Harry tried to push him off. "An' you too, Ginny! The forest's not a safe place for yeh to be! What would yeh've done if a ruddy centaur'd found yeh here?"

"Er, sorry Hagrid," Harry said quickly. "We didn't mean to be here, we just--"

"All right, all right, hold yer thestrals! I'm not givin' yeh detention or nothin'. But yeh'd better get straight back ter the castle, it's after yer curfew."

Harry looked at his watch and was startled to realise that it was well after ten o'clock; he'd lost track of how much time they'd spent in the forest. He and Ginny reluctantly got to their feet, and, after retrieving their brooms with the Summoning Charm, followed Hagrid to the edge of the forest and to the castle.

"I don' fancy yer chances with that idiot Filch at this hour," said Hagrid, shaking his head as they came to the Entrance Hall, "so I'll be takin' yeh back ter the common room."

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry said, sighing inwardly. He would probably not get to be alone with Ginny again until after exams, as they both had massive amounts of revising ahead of them. And then he would have only another week until he had to go back to the Dursleys--unless he could talk to her without interruption in the common room.

* * *

They were fortunate in that they did not encounter Filch on the way there, as Harry would not have put it past the increasingly spiteful caretaker to try to give them detention, even with Hagrid there to cover for them. But no sooner had they set foot in the common room than they were accosted by Hermione, who seemed particularly distressed that they had been out so late.

"Where have you _been_, playing Quidditch all this time?" she demanded. "I'm surprised Filch didn't give you detention--goodness knows you'd deserve it. It's not safe to be out so late. Ginny you have your OWLs to think of--"

"Hermione," Ron said, quietly interrupting Hermione's breakneck telling-off speech, "Give it a rest. They're back, and they're all right. It's not like they went wandering around in the forest or anything."

Ginny and Harry exchanged uncomfortable looks at this. Hermione was watching them, a shrewd expression on her face.

"_Have_ you been in the forest?" she asked, eying Ginny's dishevelled and leaf-ridden hair. "What were you doing in there?"

"Just a short detour to chase after a Snitch that got away," said Ginny smoothly. She wasn't quite lying, Harry reflected, but stretching the truth considerably.

Hermione huffed in displeasure. Fortunately, however, she did not pursue the subject further.

"I don't think I'm going to be able to do any work tonight," Ginny said with a yawn. "Too tired. Think I'll head up to bed."

"Er, all right then," Harry said. "Have a good sleep. I'll see you later."

"Good night," said Ginny, smiling. She walked up the stairs to the girls' dormitories and out of sight; Harry watched her go.

Harry didn't think he'd be able to do any work tonight either, but not only because he was tired. He took a seat next to Ron, who looked at him curiously and asked, "What's going on with you and my sister, anyway?"

"What?" Harry said, startled. Hermione looked up from her Arithmancy chart to listen in. "Er, nothing, really. We just--"

"Find it romantic to go flying through the forest late at night?" interrupted Ron with a grin.

"Romantic?" cut in Hermione. "But Harry doesn't--" She paused, a rather keen look in her eye. "Do you?"

Harry grimaced in chagrin. _Am I really so obvious?_ he wondered.

Deciding he didn't want to be questioned, Harry stood and said abruptly, "I'm going to bed, see you tomorrow," and walked swiftly to the stairs, trying to ignore the looks of disappointment on their faces. A part of him knew he should not have been short with his friends, but he didn't really want to discuss that sort of thing with them. He didn't need their advice! There weren't any details to give them, anyway. Nothing had happened . . . _Unless you count lying on top of her and nearly kissing her_, he thought.

He could hear Neville snoring faintly as he entered his dormitory. Feeling exhausted but somehow restless, Harry changed and got into bed, his mind still on Ginny and their evening together.

Though there hadn't been many of them, moments like he and Ginny had shared tonight, with just the two of them alone, had begun to assume a greater importance to him over the past months. When he was with her, he felt happy--exhilarated even--in a way that went far beyond mere swooping feelings in his stomach or absurd impulses to show off. Conversation with her, whether serious or light-hearted, was comfortable and engaging. As time had passed, and he'd become more at ease with her, he'd begun to tell her things, even some of his innermost thoughts and feelings, which until recently he would never have dreamed of sharing with anyone.

Strangely enough, their shared confidence had stemmed in part from something that isolated them both from everyone: their experiences with Lord Voldemort.

For some time after Sirius' death, Harry had been in no shape to confide in anyone. Despite the efforts of others to keep him from pulling away, he'd found himself becoming increasingly cold and withdrawn, still prone to outbursts of anger, but confused and infinitely tired. In the face of the knowledge that he was a marked man, many things that had once been important to him had seemed hollow and empty. His feelings of loneliness and isolation had become a constant companion, a cold, twisted comfort to which he'd clung, mired with an inescapable destiny he could share with no one.

Over the summer he had begun to notice Ginny a bit more; his attention driven, perhaps, by the fact that she had accompanied him and the others to the Department of Mysteries. The unexpected force with which she had argued for her inclusion in that group, and her statement that she cared what happened to Sirius as much as he did, were not something easily forgotten. Early in the school year he would talk to her sometimes--for reasons he didn't really understand at first--after Quidditch practice or in the common room when no one else was around. He found that he liked talking with her, discovering slowly that she was a good listener and that they could be comfortable alone with each other. He didn't always get to see her very often, but a shared smile in the corridors or a laugh over dinner could sometimes do wonders to improve his mood.

From his lessons with Dumbledore, Harry soon began to achieve success in learning Occlumency, the consistent practice of which helped him establish a level of control over his emotions. But the temptation to use this ability to permanantly block out his painful feelings was very great, and often in his early training he succumbed to it; only to find that it had the unpleasant effect of dulling his overall emotional state while disproportionately increasing his sense of isolation. It hadn't taken him long to recognise that something was wrong with this, but for a long time he had done nothing, stubbornly pretending that he was fine, to the point that he almost believed it. Such a state could not last forever, though, and in the weeks before Christmas he'd found himself talking with Ginny more often, and at length. Inevitably the subject of their trip to the Ministry of Magic had come up, and to his surprise talking about Sirius with her was much easier than he would have expected it to be.

Eventually, when his feelings of loneliness got to be too much, he had begun to seek her out.

Their newfound sense of connection made it possible for him to help her recover after the traumatic events that had taken place over the holidays . . . and it was in part because of this, because he had reached out to her and forced himself to think of _her_ pain, _her_ grief, and not only his own, that he had felt comfortable including her when he finally told his friends about the Prophecy a few weeks into the new term. Though clearly horrified, Ginny's reaction to the news had been surprisingly subdued; much later, in private, she'd told him that in a way she'd suspected this all along, ever since he'd saved her in her first year. It was then that the name of _Tom Riddle_ was first spoken between them since they'd emerged from the Chamber of Secrets.

To hear her speak of the incident at length had been an astounding experience. The fact that she trusted him enough to talk about it was incredible to him, and her perspective on the events even more so. Looking back, he wondered why he hadn't seen it all along--Ginny too had been faced with a terrible evil at a young age. Lonely and misunderstood, she'd poured out her heart and her soul into Riddle's diary, and endured his torment and abuse for months. Her body and her mind had become totally and frightfully his, and she'd been forced to do terrible things against her will, but she had resisted, had fought Riddle with all her strength to the bitter end, even as she'd known she was going to die. Learning of her continued difficulty trusting people, and of the guilt that had long incapacitated her and made her doubt her own judgement, made it much easier to relate his feelings about what had happened at the Ministry of Magic the year before, and to see how similar his and Ginny's past experiences really were.

As the year went on, their unexpected friendship had grown. In Ginny, he found such warmth and caring as he had never known before, and it amazed him. She had helped him to open up with his emotions, and it gave him immense satisfaction that she was able to confide in him, as well. He had even taught her some of the basics of Occlumency, in order to help her cope with the lingering voice of Tom Riddle that could still sometimes haunt her dreams. Doing so had improved his own skills, and helped him to see that clearing one's mind was not such a violent concept as he'd imagined--that it was not so much about creating a wall or shield around the mind, but of quieting those parts of the mind that gave rise to unwanted thoughts.

Again he found himself recalling how beautiful she had been tonight, and how peaceful he'd felt as they sat together in the forest. He knew that what he felt for her was something very special; never in all his life could he recall being as happy, or longing to be with someone so badly as he did now. He cursed the upcoming exams, wishing they could have more time before he had to go back to the Dursleys. Then he remembered there was a Hogsmeade visit the last weekend of term. He could have all day with her then, and they could do anything they liked. The thought excited him, and he found himself thinking of what all the things he _wanted_ to do with her . . . He reflected that Ginny would probably curse him into the next century if he even suggested taking her to Madam Puddifoot's, and he snorted aloud at the thought of it.

"What are you laughing at?" he heard Ron ask. Harry was startled; he had not heard Ron enter the room. He stuck his head out through the curtains of his four-poster.

"Er, just imagining force-feeding Snape some Puking Pastilles," he invented hastily. "That stupid essay on human blood use is going to kill me." He winced slightly in memory.

Ron chuckled grimly. "No kidding. The git deserves whatever we send his way for assigning that essay. Even Hermione's having trouble with it."

Harry shook his head at this, feeling suddenly rather contrite. "Um, Ron? Look, about earlier--I'm sorry I walked out on you--"

Ron cut him off. "S'all right, mate, don't worry about it. As long as you treat my sister right, that is," he added with a grin a moment later. Harry groaned softly.

"I'm serious, there's nothing going on to tell you about." _Not yet, anyway_.

Ron looked away from him. Harry thought he seemed uncomfortable.

"Do you want there to be?"

"Erm . . ." Harry faltered. _What to say?_ he wondered.

"It's okay with me if you do," Ron said quietly, glancing back at him, though it was hard to see his face. Harry nodded his thanks.

"Do you mind discussing your love lives some place else?" came Dean's irritated voice from across the room. "I'm trying to sleep here."

"Sorry, mate," said Ron, moving to climb into his own bed.

"Night," said Harry, shutting the curtains. He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes.

* * *

He was flying through the forest on his Firebolt, following something. But what it was, he could not make out. It was moving at high speed, weaving effortlessly through the trees, and it was emitting a brilliant red glow. He thought he could hear a faint music from up ahead, but it was indistinct.

It was getting colder . . . all around him was being swallowed up in blackness . . . he urged his Firebolt onwards, but he was slowing down . . . he was falling from his broom . . . the ground was rushing up to meet him . . .

The red glow was coming back towards him now, growing brighter and brighter, and Harry dared to feel hope. His descent was slowing . . . he could see something else approaching along the ground, a bright green light . . . it seemed to be hissing at him . . . the green light and the red light met him just as he hit the ground, and there was a brilliant flash of silvery-white . . .

He stood in a dimly lit room, illuminated only by a brace of candles along one wall. He looked down from his considerable height at the hooded man kneeling before him.

"You are sure of this?" he asked, his voice cold, but not entirely suppressing a growing excitement. Something he had long sought might soon be in reach again . . .

"Yes, My Lord," said the man, averting his eyes from Harry's face. "My son may be slightly biased where Potter is concerned, but his words were quite clear. He cannot abide their presence. Even one may cause him to faint almost immediately."

Harry nodded thoughtfully. "Surely the old fool will have told him by now. You have done well to tell me this, Lucius," he said, regarding his long, white fingers with some interest. "We will need to plan our attempt carefully. Your son may be of further use to us . . . Very well, you may go. Send Wormtail to me."

"Yes, Master," the man said. "I am glad to be of service to you." He stood, bowed low before Harry, and departed from the room.

Harry turned away and looked out the room's only window, a faint red glow reflecting on the glass. Finally, after years of waiting and foiled attempts, he had discovered a way. His plan would be foolproof--there would be no one to stop him. He threw back his head and laughed, a high, cold laugh filled with cruelty . . .

Harry awoke with a gasp, a sharp pain flaring along his scar. He held his head in his hands, struggling not to cry aloud at the pain of it. He blinked furiously, trying to run through the Occlumency techniques Dumbledore had taught him. The pain began to subside, though he was drenched in sweat and felt sick to his stomach. He was confused and upset--he had not had a dream like that for many months now. The Occlumency had helped to shut Voldemort out of his mind--but he'd forgotten to practice before going to bed today . . . Already the dream was fading from memory. He tried to recall what had been said--Voldemort had received some new information, he was planning something new . . . but Harry did not know what. He shook his head; should he tell Dumbledore? No, he thought, it was probably nothing . . . and it was so vague in his mind . . . Soon he was asleep once more.


	2. Banned

**To Save a Life**  
_A Harry Potter story by hairyhen_

_Chapter 2: Banned_

"Five minutes remain. You should all be nearly finished by now. Place your potion samples in the flasks in front of you and bring them to my desk as soon as the period has ended."

Harry looked up from his cauldron and saw that Snape was moving around the dungeon to inspect the class's progress. He stirred his Blood Replenishing Potion slowly, peripherally aware of the smoke wafting up from the flames below.

It was their last exam of the year. Just a few more minutes of this and he'd be done, free to do whatever he wanted, until it was time to take the train home. He felt a slight jolt of excitement at the thought.

He kept his head down as Snape approached, trying not to notice the characteristic sneer that crossed the professor's face. Already tense from nerves and the dull headache that had been building for the past hour, he could not suppress a stab of irritation. _Just ignore him_, Harry told himself firmly. _The potion's fine; don't let him provoke you into making a mistake._

Finished, Harry placed a sample of the potion in a flask (to which he had surreptitiously added an Unbreakable Charm, lest Snape try to sabotage his work again) and sat back, glancing around the room. Next to him, Hermione had also finished, a look of satisfaction on her face. Ron appeared to be nearly done, though his potion seemed to be a slightly lighter shade of red than Harry's. His brow was furrowed in concentration. Harry noticed that Malfoy was making faces at him across the room, and turned quickly away in annoyance. His head gave a painful throb.

As the exam ended, they took their flasks up to Snape's desk for evaluation, and hastily departed from the dungeon. "Well, that wasn't as bad as I expected, I guess," said Ron as they left.

"It's a very difficult potion if you don't know what you're doing," said Hermione. "The theory behind replenishing blood is terribly complex. I wasn't sure I'd be able to do it properly--"

"That's why it's called NEWT-level Potions, isn't it," cut in Ron. "Hardest class we've ever had. Even if that stupid git wasn't the teacher it'd still be worse than Transfiguration."

They approached a staircase that would take them straight from the first floor to the Gryffindor common room on alternate Fridays. Harry didn't really want to think about exams anymore now they were finished, so he only half-listened as Hermione ruminated on all the ways she could have earned a less-than-perfect score in Transfiguration as they climbed.

" . . . and of course Conjuring is very difficult, so I suppose it's to be expected that we would have some trouble with it, but I was ever so pleased to see the extra credit questions on Human Transfiguration, maybe it'll help make up for some of the Conjured snails being dead when they appeared . . ."

The three of them arrived at the Fat Lady's portrait. Ron gave the password ("Waddiwasi") and they entered. After dumping his bag in the dormitory, Harry came back down to the common room and took a seat with his friends near the fireplace.

He felt a strong relief that the exams were finished. Strictly speaking, they had been more difficult than the OWLs, though considerably less stressful, as his marks would not determine his future to the extent that the OWLs did. He did not even want to imagine the NEWTs he would take next year, for they would be far more demanding than any level of work he had done so far. To become an Auror he had to earn no less than five marks of "E" or higher, Professor McGonagall had told him. That ambition had fuelled his desire to succeed this year. It was not always easy, however, to keep his mind on his studies, when he knew there was a very good chance he would not survive to complete them.

With an effort, Harry silenced that thought, aware of the dull throbbing in his head. He thought instead of the Hogsmeade visit tomorrow, and what he could do during the last week of term. He intended to make the most of the time, for he was dreading his return to the Dursleys for the summer. It would be the last time he had to stay there, as he would soon be turning seventeen and of age, but even this fact did little to make the prospect more bearable.

Hearing the portrait hole open behind him, Harry turned and saw a group of fifth-year girls entering the common room. His heart leapt when he saw Ginny among them, giggling with the others at a joke one of them had told. She looked so animated, so . . . full of life, he thought. Her long hair was pulled back in a ponytail, falling well beyond her shoulders. Harry found he very much wanted to talk to her, but he felt awkward when she was with her friends.

The sound of her laughter carried across the common room, and Harry's heartbeat quickened. He wanted to join in, to laugh along with her, to hear that wonderful sound again and know that he had caused it . . . As if sensing his thoughts, Ginny turned and looked in his direction. She saw him and smiled, and Harry felt suddenly, inexplicably, nervous. _For Merlin's sake, just get over there_, he berated himself.

Whether by accident or by design, Hermione chose that precise moment to call out, "Hi Ginny! How did you do with your OWLs?" Ginny's eyes met Harry's, and he knew they were thinking the same thing. He smiled to himself.

"Pretty well, I think," Ginny said, detaching herself from her friends and crossing the room to join them. "Defence Against the Dark Arts was no problem. I probably could have taken it last year, since we learned so much in the DA." She shot a grin at Harry, who felt a surge of pride in his efforts with Dumbledore's Army. With Umbridge gone it had not been necessary to continue the DA, but some of its members openly wore their Galleons in honour of what they had done the year before, much to the consternation of the former Inquisitorial Squad--and, Harry suspected, to the delight of the Headmaster.

"Charms went well, too," Ginny continued, "although I think I mixed up the wand movements for the Cheering Charm, because the examiner started having some pretty strange mood swings a few minutes after I did it on her."

"How about Potions?" Ron cut in, before Harry could ask about these mood swings. "You need that to become an Auror, you know."

"I dunno." She sighed. "It's definitely easier to brew a potion without Snape giving you that look that says he knows you'll screw it up. But I'm not sure about the written part of the test. Some of the theory questions were confusing, even with all the revising I did."

Ron nodded in sympathy. "It only gets worse."

"Thanks a lot," she said sardonically. "But I don't think I want to be an Auror, anyway. I just don't know what I want to do, really."

"Didn't you have a career meeting with Professor McGonagall?" asked Hermione, sounding slightly concerned.

"Yeah." A wicked grin suddenly crossed her face. "I told her I want to train trolls for the ballet."

Harry and Ron guffawed at this; Hermione appeared shocked. "You _what_?" she asked, appalled. "Ginny--"

"I'm joking," Ginny said quickly. "I think she would have thrown me out of her office if I'd said that," she added, still grinning.

"Oh," said Hermione. For a moment she was silent, eyebrows raised in an expression of incredulity; then she began to giggle, an amused smile breaking out over her face. Harry, Ron and Ginny laughed harder.

As the chortling died down, Harry said, "I'm sure you did fine on your Potions. Do you think you'd take it next year if you could?"

"I'm not sure," answered Ginny slowly. "I don't like Snape at all, but it _is_ an important subject. A lot of the work Fred and George do at the joke shop is based on Potions. And of course--" she rolled her eyes "--Mum thinks I ought to be a _Healer_, and you need the NEWT for that." She shook her head.

"Why does she say that?" asked Harry.

"Dunno. Probably because I'm the only girl in the family or something. But I'd be awful at it--I haven't got the patience. But I don't want to disappoint her, either, I just . . ." she broke off, looking uncertain. Harry looked at her questioningly, but after a moment, Ginny shrugged, her expression clearing. "Well, I should get going. Rose and Diane want me to go down to the lake with them this afternoon. See you later," she said. She smiled at Harry and the others, and went to rejoin her friends across the common room. Harry suppressed a sigh of disappointment.

* * *

The rest of the day passed slowly. Harry spent the afternoon with Ron and Hermione having tea at Hagrid's. He spoke little during dinner, grumpily chewing his food, scarcely noticing his friends talking next to him. Vaguely he wondered where his earlier cheerfulness had gone. Around him people were discussing their plans for the Hogsmeade visit tomorrow. Almost without realising it, he rested his gaze on Ginny, who was sitting a way down the table, chatting animatedly with her group of friends. He was slightly disconcerted to see that there was a boy sitting there, a fifth-year whose name he did not know. Harry watched as Ginny laughed at something the boy said, and he turned away, scowling. His head throbbed painfully.

"Harry? You all right?" Ron asked. Apparently the less-than-pleased expression on his face had not gone unnoticed.

"Fine." He tried to sound as if nothing was wrong, hoping Ron would let it go. "Just a headache, that's all." The pain in his head had been growing steadily worse all day, setting him increasingly on edge. He tried to clear his mind with Occlumency, but was finding it difficult to concentrate.

"It's not your scar, is it?" Hermione asked quietly, in tones of concern. Harry could not help feeling irritated at this.

"No," he said shortly, shaking his head and glancing around the Great Hall. He could see Malfoy at the Slytherin table, apparently by himself--Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen. He seemed to be minding his own business, not talking to anyone. Something about this made Harry uneasy.

Ron noticed where he was looking. "You don't think Malfoy did something, do you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes impatiently. "Ron, don't be ridiculous. Not everything bad that happens is Malfoy's doing. We haven't seen him since Potions. You didn't have a headache in Potions, did you, Harry?"

"Er, I did, actually," Harry said slowly. "But it doesn't matter," he continued, seeing Ron's triumphant expression, "it's not like I've been poisoned or anything." He didn't want them making a fuss over a stupid headache, but in truth he was a bit worried. There was something flickering uncomfortably in the back of his mind . . . something about Malfoy . . . and his scar . . .

_Get a grip_, Harry told himself. It was nothing he could take to Dumbledore. He imagined what he would say if he went to the Headmaster: _Sorry to bother you, Professor, but I've got a headache and Malfoy is minding his own business at the Slytherin table. Thought you ought to know._ He shook his head in disgust.

Not feeling particularly hungry, Harry left the Great Hall ahead of the others, heading for the loo. He walked in silence, giving a friendly smile to Neville as he passed, and entered a boys' toilet on the fourth floor.

Twenty minutes later he emerged, his mood considerably worse than it had been upon entering. Apparently, _someone_, perhaps in a fit of post-exam high spirits, had taken it upon themselves to charm all the toilets to fire up a blast of cold water whenever he tried to sit down. Adding insult to injury, the toilet seats had been charmed to Vanish at the same instant, causing him to lose his balance and fall in--only to reappear mockingly when he had extracted himself, wet and embarrassed. Harry soon found that the other boys' loos on the floor were similarly unusable. Now disgruntled and fairly desperate (not to mention thoroughly soaked), he decided there was nothing else for it--he had to brave the girls' toilets. His head ached worse than ever.

After looking around to check that no one was watching, Harry stealthily approached the nearest girls' lavatory. Just as he reached the door, however, it opened and he was confronted by Ginny, who was coming out. "Harry!" she exclaimed in surprise. "What happened? You're sopping wet . . . Wait a minute, why are you trying to get into the girls' toilet?" she asked, eyes narrowed.

Thoroughly embarrassed, Harry could not reply for several seconds. Finally he managed to get out, "Somebody cursed the toilets in boys' room, and I really need to use the loo." He hung his head, wishing he could disappear into the floor.

"Really? Cursed them how?" asked Ginny brightly, as if this were an everyday occurrence.

"They, erm--the seats Vanish whenever I try to sit down, and I, er, fell in," he mumbled, not meeting her gaze. He could feel his cheeks colouring.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "But how did you get so wet?" she asked. "You couldn't have fallen in that far--"

"It blasted me with water when I fell," he muttered. "Probably some idiot's idea of a joke."

"Sounds like something Fred and George would do," said Ginny, looking as though she were trying hard not to laugh. "Look, here--" She performed a drying charm on his robes, which began to steam. "Well, go ahead, no one else is in there, I'll keep anyone from coming in while you . . ."

Harry muttered a grateful thanks and ducked quickly into the toilet, as Ginny dissolved into a fit of giggles behind him.

* * *

_If I ever find out Fred and George had anything to do with this_, Harry thought irritably as he washed his hands, trying to ignore the pain in his head, _I'm going to kill them_.

Joke or not, the whole thing had been incredibly humiliating, and appreciation for the twins' sense of humour aside, he found himself giving serious contemplation to a suitable revenge for the incident. Maybe if he Transfigured the pair of them into toilets, and left them in the lavatory for someone to use . . .

Snorting aloud at the thought, he moved to dry his hands. A faint noise caught his attention, and he frowned, listening.

Indistinct voices could be heard from outside the lavatory. No doubt Ginny was warding someone off from coming into the room. But was that a man's voice he heard, cutting her off like that? It didn't sound friendly . . . what was going on?

Worried, he moved closer to the exit, but as he did so, the voices faded into silence. For a few seconds he stood frozen, listening cautiously to see whether it was safe to come out. His heart was beating rapidly, and he felt hot all over at the thought of being seen coming from the girls' toilet. But if Ginny was in some kind of trouble . . .

He had to check. Taking a deep breath, he opened the door--

"Well, well," came a sneering voice that Harry hated. "Off for a snog in the girls' toilets with Weasley, are we, Potter? I didn't think even you were that desperate. I don't know which is worse--that you can't find anywhere more private, or that you can't find another girl who's willing--"

Harry's face contorted as a boiling anger erupted inside him, born of the frustration that had been building all day. "You take that back," he snarled at Malfoy, who was standing a few feet away, a delighted smirk on his face.

Next to Harry, Ginny was regarding their antagonist with a look of utter disdain. "I don't know that too many girls are lining up for a snog with you, Malfoy," she said contemptuously. "Unless you count that troll Pansy Parkinson. Don't you have anything better to do than hang around the girls' toilets?"

"I could say the same about you, Weasley," Malfoy said gleefully. "On guard duty for Potter, were you? Making sure no one disturbed him while he . . . _relieved_ himself? Maybe even listening in? I'm sure filth like the Weasleys do that sort of thing all the time at home."

Ginny rolled her eyes in disgust, but for Harry this was the last straw. Head pounding frightfully, his wand was in his hand almost before he realised what he was doing. "Shut up," he bit out, his voice trembling with barely suppressed fury. "Shut up, or I'll _make_ you."

"That's your greatest dream, isn't it, Potter?" Malfoy continued as if Harry had not spoken, though he had his own wand out now. "To be a Weasley. I suppose they'll be glad to have you--glad to get their miserable hands on some gold for once, glad to get some Muggle blood into the family and pollute the line even more than it is already . . . and I guess after losing one son they'll be anxious to adopt another, seeing as they've never heard of birth-control . . . otherwise this bitch wouldn't even exist--"

There was no thought, no conscious decision. One moment Malfoy was upright and sneering triumphantly, the next he was sprawled on the floor by the far wall, covered in hex marks and moaning in pain. The Strike Spell had burst from Harry's wand before he'd even known what he was saying, followed a split-second later by Ginny's Bat-Bogey Hex. Harry did not stop there: the Furnunculus Curse and the Jelly Legs Jinx struck Malfoy in rapid succession, the force of their impact slamming his head against the wall. He was shaking with rage; he raised his wand to fire another curse at Malfoy, to make him pay for what he had said . . .

"POTTER! WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"

Harry felt his insides turn to ice. Striding towards them was the very last person in the world he wanted to see, the one person who could make this situation even worse--Snape.

"I've always known you were arrogant, Potter, but this goes beyond even your usual escapades," Snape said coldly as he approached. "You and Weasley, ganging up on a student--a prefect, no less--and attacking him while he was defenceless and on the ground. Your behaviour is appalling!" He paused, his mouth twisting in a malicious sneer, and added, "Then again, considering who your father was, I shouldn't be surprised."

Harry glared at him hatefully. Snape went on, "This conduct is an outrage. Fifty points from Gryffindor, and a detention to both of you--to be served tomorrow. All day."

"Tomorrow?" gasped Harry. "But--that's the Hogsmeade visit!"

"Yes." Snape's voice was soft, and there was an unpleasant gleam in his eye. "It is. I suppose you should have thought of that before."

"Ginny didn't do anything!" Harry protested. "It was me, don't punish her for it--"

"Ten more points from Gryffindor for lying, Potter. Both of you had your wands out. Now, return to your common room at once, or I'll take another ten points. Come along, Draco," Snape continued briskly, turning to Malfoy and helping him to his feet. "Hospital wing." He led him away down the corridor, Malfoy managing a grin at them as he passed. Harry turned away, feeling a strong desire to kick something. A nearby suit of armour laughed wheezingly at him, and he obliged it, a loud clanging sound echoing down the corridor.

Ginny was staring at the wall, a dazed expression on her face. Harry felt hollow inside, completely drained. "Well, I guess you won't want to take Potions anymore after this, right?" he said bitterly. Ginny did not laugh.

"Harry . . . why did you do that?" she asked, slowly turning to face him. Something in her gaze made him feel wary.

"Do what? Curse Malfoy? I'd have thought that was--"

"No, I mean why did you tell Snape I didn't do anything?"

Harry opened his mouth, closed it again. "Well, I didn't want you to have a detention for something I did," he managed to say.

"Something _you_ did? I didn't see you use the Bat-Bogey Hex." She was watching him with narrowed eyes, her arms folded across her chest. The tone of her voice had cooled noticeably.

"Well, I . . ." Harry paused, at a loss for what to say. Couldn't she see why he had done it? What was there to explain?

"Do you think for one minute that after what Malfoy said about me--after what he said about _Percy_--that I would just take that lying down? That I wouldn't take responsibility for my own actions?" Ginny demanded harshly, her voice rising. "I make my own choices, Harry, and I accept the consequences of what happens! I don't need you to try to protect me from that!" She was fairly shouting now.

"I wasn't trying to protect you--"

"Then what were you doing?" When he didn't answer, she continued, "I've made enough mistakes in the past that I can accept that responsibility. I would have thought you'd learned that by now! And if that means I have to tell a boy I can't meet him in Hogsmeade tomorrow because I have to serve a detention, then so be it!" She was breathing heavily, her cheeks flushed with anger.

Harry flinched. "Well, fine," he snapped, confused, hurt, and jealous all at once. "What should I have done then? Just left so you could say you earned a detention all on your own? I thought we were on the same side here." He could not repress the bitter sarcasm in his voice. "I suppose next you'll be telling me I should just sit idly by if another basilisk comes along, so you can deal with that by yourself too--"

The instant these words left his mouth he regretted them. Ginny blinked, her lip beginning to tremble as she stared at him in shock. Her eyes brimmed with tears, and Harry's heart was wrenched by guilt. The sight of her made him feel as if she had punched him in the gut. What awful force had possessed him to say that to her? No matter how hurt he felt, _nothing_ gave him the right to speak to her that way.

"Ginny, I'm sorry," he said desperately, terrified that she would leave. "Please--I'm sorry--that was a horrible thing to say--"

Ginny turned away and didn't answer. Harry looked down at his hands, noticed he was clenching his wand tightly, and stopped. These very hands had once held a sword, a sword he had wielded in trying to save her life . . . and he had just come very close to telling her that it wasn't worth it. How could she ever forgive him for that? How could he forgive himself?

"Ginny?" he said tentatively, moving to stand closer. He wanted to put his hand on her shoulder, but did not dare. Harry faltered, trying to find the right words. "Look--I'll . . . I'll go if you want me to," he said, in a very small voice.

For a long time she was silent. Then, very slowly, she turned to face him again. A minute passed while they simply looked at each other, not saying anything. Then Ginny did the very last thing Harry would have expected.

She hugged him.

Taken completely by surprise, he did not react immediately. Finally registering what was happening, he put his arms around her, feeling the warmth of her body against him. She was trembling uncontrollably, her hair, breath and tears creating strange sensations on his neck. "Oh, Harry, I'm so sorry," she sobbed, as he gently caressed her back with his hands.

"For what?" he asked, genuinely bewildered. Wasn't he the one who was supposed to be apologising?

"For losing my temper with you," Ginny said in a choked voice, pulling back slightly from his embrace. "I . . . I have a horrible temper sometimes. Probably got it from my mum. I try to keep it in check, but . . ." She trailed off, avoiding his eyes, and he realised how ashamed of herself she was. Her body shook with fresh sobs, and he pulled her fiercely to him as she threw her arms around his neck.

Slowly, her trembling subsided, and she pulled away, wiping a hand at her eyes to clear away the tears. She took several deep breaths, pushing stray hairs from her face. Harry watched her in silence, waiting for her to speak again.

"I wasn't really angry with you at all," Ginny said after a moment, sounding as though the words were costing her a great deal of effort. "It was Malfoy, he . . . t-taunted us about Percy, because his father killed him, and I was so angry, I wanted to hurt him, to make him pay for what he said . . ." Her voice was shaking. She paused, drew in a great shuddering breath, and continued. "And then you told Snape I hadn't done anything . . . it felt like you were saying it didn't matter, that you were the only one who was allowed to get angry--" She gave a little sniff.

"That's not what I--" Harry began, but Ginny cut him off.

"I know," she said, finally meeting his eyes again. Tentatively she took his hand in her own. "You were just trying to help me get out of trouble. And I--I took it out on you. Can you forgive me?" She looked so lost, so uncertain, that Harry thought his heart would burst.

"Of course I can!" he said, his own voice unsteady. "It's all right, Ginny--I understand. But--" He stopped. How should he say this? "I think what I said to you was a lot worse. I didn't have any right--"

Ginny swallowed and dropped her gaze to the floor. "No," she said quietly. "But it made me see . . . it made me realise . . ."

She trailed off again. Harry waited, but Ginny did not continue immediately. She seemed to be fighting some kind of battle with herself, clearly struggling to find the right words to say whatever it was.

"Realise what?" Harry prodded gently.

Ginny looked up at him--almost shyly, he thought--and gave him a watery smile. "I'm not sure yet, actually. I . . . I need some time to figure things out. I don't trust myself to talk about it right now."

Harry nodded slowly, trying to contain his disappointment. "Promise me you'll tell me when you're ready?"

Ginny hesitated. "All right."

Abruptly she wiped a hand at her face and cleared her throat. "I should go. It's been a long day; I need to go to bed. You know, the OWLs--I haven't slept properly in weeks." She stepped away and offered him a slight smile. "See you tomorrow, Harry." She walked away down the corridor.

Harry watched her go, a strange mixture of emotions running through him. Never in his life had he been so confused about another person. He was glad that they were still friends, that no irreparable damage had resulted from their argument, but he didn't feel that they'd resolved everything. His remark about the basilisk had been needlessly harsh, and he didn't understand how she could have forgiven him for it. And what had she been talking about at the end? She had realised . . . what? The look on her face had been almost shy, _innocent_, somehow--something he had never quite seen on her before. Not since--

He slumped against the wall, staring with unseeing eyes down the corridor where she'd disappeared, feeling strangely paralyzed by the turmoil of his thoughts. Was he merely grasping at straws? A wave of longing flooded through him, and the ache in his heart intensified painfully.

It was a long time before Harry began to walk back to the common room.

* * *

Midnight found Harry sitting alone in the empty common room, staring into the dying embers of the fire as though entranced. His headache, which had subsided a few hours before, had now returned in full force.

He felt a pang of loss. The last day of exams was over, marking a year since he'd gone off on a fool's errand to the Department of Mysteries. One year ago Sirius had died . . . It was hard to believe that so much time had passed since he'd last seen his godfather. He felt guilty for not thinking of him much lately. But then, he had been rather busy--a lot had happened in the past year. Voldemort was steadily gaining power in the wizarding world, striking fear into its inhabitants with attacks all over the country, fear that _The Daily Prophet_ had played a large part in turning to outright hysteria. Nearly every week there was news of more death, more torture, more sightings of the Dark Mark. _It's just like last time_, he thought. _What difference did it make that I stopped him before?_

Drawing a shaky breath, he closed his eyes and buried his head in his hands, blocking out the firelight. The great burden he carried seemed to weigh in on him more heavily than ever. Sirius used to appear in the fire to talk to him when he needed it . . . but Sirius was gone, and he would never see him again. What was the point of earning good marks on his exams when there was every chance he would die before he finished school? What did it matter if he was accepted into Auror training, if he was the only one who could vanquish Voldemort? Being an Auror wouldn't help him at all--he knew he couldn't possibly defeat Voldemort in a duel. Not even Dumbledore had been able to do that. Harry remembered the words of the Prophecy: _He shall have power the Dark Lord knows not_ . . .

He still didn't know what this power he was supposed to have could possibly be. Dumbledore seemed to think he would discover it within himself, eventually, but Harry couldn't see how. There was that strange scar connection between himself and Voldemort, but that had only ever hurt him, never given him an advantage over his enemy. The connection seemed to have diminished somewhat with the improvement of his Occlumency skills, anyway, so he didn't see how that could help. He thought suddenly of how Voldemort had possessed him at the Ministry of Magic, and how he had left at Harry's wish to see Sirius. And he recalled Dumbledore's words about the locked room in the Department of Mysteries, the one that not even Sirius' knife could open . . . But how could _love_ possibly help him? Love wasn't a destructive force. It had given him protection, yes, but how could he turn that into a weapon?

It didn't seem possible. He wasn't sure he even knew the meaning of the word. And what kind of love was Dumbledore referring to, anyway? His mother's love had shielded him from death when he was a baby. Voldemort had been reduced to a shadow of his former self, it was true, but it hadn't destroyed him. Did he mean love in the romantic sense? That would mean he had to have a girlfriend in order to save the world . . . But no. That was clearly ridiculous--the concept was laughable, absurd.

His thoughts were irresistibly drawn back to her--_Ginny_. He'd been planning on asking her to Hogsmeade for tomorrow--not as a date, not overtly, but the thought of such a rendezvous had helped keep him going through the exams. But now, thanks to Snape, it was impossible. They had detention because of their fight with Malfoy--if indeed it could be called a fight. He realised with a shock of shame that Snape had been right--no matter the provocation, attacking Malfoy the way he did was unjustified. It frightened him how easily his anger had taken over--and now that he thought about it, his actions weren't entirely unlike what he'd seen his father and Sirius do to Snape in the Pensieve . . . _Maybe I am just like my dad_, Harry thought. _Only not in the way everyone says._

He let out his breath angrily. Percy was dead, and Draco had taunted them about it. Ginny had been so upset--they'd lost control and given in to their anger, and now they were banned from going to Hogsmeade . . . Ginny had implied she'd planned to go with someone else tomorrow, maybe that boy he'd seen at dinner . . .

Really, Harry told himself, what did going to Hogsmeade matter anyway, in the face of all that was happening in the world? He felt as if he were sinking into an abyss as depressing thoughts chased each other around in his head.

A soft voice cut across his thoughts. "Harry? What's wrong?" Strongly tempted to ignore it, he nonetheless looked up and saw Hermione standing over him, wearing a light blue nightgown and a worried expression on her face. Vaguely he wondered why he had not heard her approach.

"What are you doing here?" he asked in some surprise.

"Well, I couldn't sleep, so I was looking for my copy of _Hogwarts, A History_, but I seem to have misplaced it. I came to see if I left it here. Is something wrong, Harry? You seem really down."

When he only shrugged, she continued doggedly, "Ron and I have been wondering where you were tonight. We haven't seen you since dinner. Did something happen? Where did you go?"

Harry's first inclination was to tell her that no, nothing was wrong, but he knew she wouldn't believe him. He wanted to be alone, but he also knew that talking would help him feel better--his time with Ginny had taught him that.

"Here, sit down," he said, indicating a seat next to him. Hermione did so, looking at him expectantly. Harry hesitated, wondering where to begin.

"Today was the last day of exams," he said, staring into the fire again.

Hermione opened her mouth questioningly, then saw what he was looking at. "Oh," she said quietly, nodding her understanding.

"I've just been thinking about . . . about what happened last year. How I miss him. It's like it just hit me all over again that he's gone, even after all this time," Harry said, his gaze dropping to the floor.

Hermione was silent for a time. Then she said tentatively, "I saw a thestral tonight."

Harry looked at her, interested. "You did?"

She nodded. "I'm sure that's what it was. It came flying out of the forest, and I saw it out my window. I just stared at it, for a long time. I'd never seen anything like it before. Before, I'd expected to be scared of them, or repulsed, but it was . . . beautiful, somehow." She shook her head. "Maybe I'm just being silly."

"No, you're not," Harry said. "I've thought the same thing about them. They helped us--you know, last year." He continued quietly, "Every time I see them I can't help but remember. But somehow I feel better from it. I'm not really sure why."

Hermione said, "I think it was because of Percy--why I could see it, I mean."

Harry nodded. They sat in silence, remembering. They had all been at the Burrow for Christmas, he and Hermione and all the Weasleys. Percy had shown up just as they were about to begin eating--the first time he had come home in over a year. Though Mr. and Mrs. Weasley had accepted him with open arms, the tension during the meal had been almost tangible as they sat, waiting, bracing themselves for the inevitable explosion.

It never came.

Death Eaters had attacked the Burrow, taking them all completely by surprise. Percy had been put under the Imperius Curse by Lucius Malfoy, forced to torture his mother while the rest of them watched in horror. A hysterical Ron had hurled himself at Mr. Malfoy, and had been hit with the Cruciatus Curse himself. When he refused to beg for his life, Mr. Malfoy had then targeted Ron with the Killing Curse, but Percy, who had somehow managed to resist the Imperius Curse for a few crucial seconds, had leapt in front of him.

Moments later the members of the Order of the Phoenix had broken into the house, and the Death Eaters had fled to avoid capture. But they had been too late. Percy was dead. At the very moment he'd returned to his family, they'd lost him again.

Harry's memories of the remainder of the evening were something of a blur. He knew only vague impressions of hysterical sobs, stoic faces, flowing tears, and his own agony at being completely unable to do anything to comfort those around him. He had fled to his room, not knowing how to face the Weasleys in their grief, until a furious Ginny had pursued him. The blazing anger in her voice, unparalleled by anything he'd seen before or since, had shocked him out of his stupor of isolation. She'd shouted herself hoarse at him for even thinking that it was his fault, as she'd known he had been--but her misplaced anger had quickly collapsed, and she'd broken down in tears. Awkwardly at first, he'd held her in his arms as she cried, and eventually they'd both fallen asleep in his bed.

Thinking of this made him remember that she'd cried in his arms tonight, as well--

Hermione was looking at him oddly. Noticing her expression, Harry blurted out, "I ran into Malfoy tonight."

"What happened?" Hermione asked. He noticed that she looked worried again.

Harry told her about the encounter with Malfoy, and how Snape had banned them from going to Hogsmeade tomorrow. When he finished, Hermione looked shocked and angry.

"Well, to be honest I don't blame you one bit for cursing him!" she said with surprising vehemence. "That foul, disgusting, evil . . ." She broke off.

Harry gave a bitter chuckle, then sobered.

"Snape was right, though," he said, his voice guilty.

Hermione looked at him in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Harry hesitated. "I . . . sort of lost control when I cursed him," he said in a low voice, not meeting her eyes. "Ginny only hit him once, but I--I kept cursing him when he was on the ground. And I probably wouldn't have stopped if Snape hadn't shown up when he did." His voice caught in his throat. "How does that make me any better? I _wanted_ to hurt him--it felt good doing it. I mean, it's not as bad as using the Cruciatus Curse, but . . ." He broke off, remembering how he had attempted that very curse on Bellatrix Lestrange the year before. What was it Dumbledore had said?

_It means you didn't hate enough, Harry_, the Headmaster had told him, when Harry had finally confessed what he'd done, and asked why the spell hadn't worked. _Had you truly wanted to torture her, to enjoy her suffering, you could have done so, but you didn't. You were simply lashing out in pain and grief--and hatred, yes, that too--but it was not strong enough to work the spell properly. That's the reason the curses are called Unforgivable--in order to use them to their full effect, the person casting the spell must be so immersed in their own hatred, so hopelessly beyond recall of compassion, that they are considered by society to be irredeemably evil. I personally do not think that anyone--no, not even Voldemort himself--is beyond redemption. But the passage of time and the build-up of such reckless hatred have made that outcome, in his case, exceedingly unlikely._

He looked at Hermione, and knew they were thinking the same thing. "I think you're right, Harry, it _is_ something to think about," she said slowly. "Losing control like that is never a good thing. But at the same time, it's important to keep some perspective. And, you know, everyone makes mistakes," she said, glancing away from him. "We have to learn from them and move on, instead of beating ourselves up about everything all the time."

Harry laughed softly. "Interesting advice, coming from you," he said, raising an eyebrow at her. "You never used to admit you were wrong about anything."

"I was young then," retorted Hermione, blushing, but Harry was sure he had noticed the corners of her mouth twitching.

"Ginny always told me that about mistakes," he said thoughtfully. "Because--you know--she knows all about guilt and stuff," he finished, a bit awkwardly. Hermione nodded, seeming to recognise his hesitation to continue with that line of thought.

They sat in silence for a moment; then Hermione said suddenly, "You know, I saw Ginny tonight. She looked like she'd been crying, but she wouldn't tell me why. Was it because of Malfoy?"

"Well, kind of," Harry hedged, wondering how much he should tell her. "Ginny and I, we sort of . . . had an argument."

He explained briefly how Ginny had been angry with him for lying to Snape about her involvement, how he'd snarled back at her in frustration (though he was deliberately vague on this point), and how they'd made up. After he finished, Hermione looked thoughtful.

"Harry, can I ask you something?" she asked, a bit hesitantly.

"Sure," he said. Something in her tone seemed vaguely ominous, he thought.

"Do you think you fancy her?"

He was taken aback at the directness of her question, and cleared his throat, not meeting her eyes.

"Yes," he said, feeling his cheeks heat up. He did not want to talk about this.

"Why?"

_What kind of question is that?_ "Well, I dunno why, really--" Harry paused, blushing harder and feeling very awkward. "She's practically all I ever think about. I always like talking with her about stuff. She's just . . . brilliant, really." He glanced at Hermione. "What?"

There was a very strange expression on Hermione's face, an odd mix of emotions. He could see happiness there, happiness for him, but there was also doubt, along with something else--pity? The sight annoyed him, just slightly.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, trying to hide his irritation. Hermione did not reply immediately.

"Well, you see, Harry," she said slowly, taking a deep breath as though bracing herself for something unpleasant, "It doesn't seem like a very good time to start liking her. She doesn't, you know--fancy you anymore." She had the grace to look ashamed of herself for saying this.

_Damn it_, Harry thought. _Thanks a lot._ "Well, I can hardly help my timing, can I?" he grumbled moodily. "I barely even knew her until last year, and I was making a bloody fuss over Cho then--" He shook his head. "So what do you say I should do? Try to use Occlumency to shut off how I feel about her?" Shades of bitterness were creeping into his voice.

"No, of course not!" said Hermione, sounding shocked. "I didn't say it was a bad thing! Have you told her about--about how you feel?"

"No," Harry said shortly. "Haven't had a chance."

Hermione seemed nervous. "Look, I didn't mean to discourage you," she said quietly. "I'm just saying the timing could make things difficult. Ginny gave up on you two years ago. I know it's not your fault," she said quickly, seeing the expression on his face. "She never talked much in front of you at all until then. But she got frustrated when you never really noticed her, and decided she didn't want to mope around the rest of her life. It's going to be hard for her to start thinking about you like that again." She sighed.

Harry grimaced. He'd told himself the same thing countless times. And Ginny seemed to be interested in someone else now . . .

"A lot's happened since then, though," he said, trying to hold on to whatever hope he could. "Maybe . . . maybe it's a good thing she gave up on me. Otherwise I might never have noticed her at all. And we would never have become such good friends as we are."

"You really are good friends, aren't you?" said Hermione with a smile. "Your face just lights up every time you see her. Hers too, actually," she added thoughtfully. "I wonder . . ."

Harry waited, but Hermione did not say more.

"I suppose I should go to bed," said Harry, standing up, as his head gave a painful twinge. _Stupid headache . . ._

"Yes," said Hermione, as if snapping herself out of a trance. "Yes. Look, I think it might be best if you tell Ginny directly how you feel about her. She's probably not going to come to you, and nothing will ever happen if the two of you keep beating around the bush. Even if she does have feelings for you, she's going to be afraid of acting on them if she thinks you don't feel the same way, and since she's already been disappointed once it makes it more difficult." There was an odd look on her face as she said this, as though she were thinking about something completely different at the same time. Harry nodded.

"All right. And--thanks," he said, and he meant it.

As he lay in bed that night, Harry thought of all the time he and Ginny had spent together over the past months, feeling more hopeful than he had before. He remembered chasing her on his broom in the Forbidden Forest, and the look on her face when he'd caught her . . . Tomorrow--tomorrow he would tell her how he felt, detention or no detention. There was nothing else for it. He was at once terribly excited and deadly afraid of what she would say, but he was resolved, determined to see this through. _Voldemort himself couldn't stop me_, he thought, grinning slightly in the darkness. Then he frowned, and quickly put the thought out of his head.

Such was his excitement that he barely noticed when the scar on his forehead began to ache, ever so slightly. _Stupid headache_, he thought again idly, as he drifted off into sleep.


	3. Caught

**To Save a Life**  
_A Harry Potter story by hairyhen_

_Chapter 3: Caught_

"Detention? _All day?_" sputtered Ron, his voice quivering with horror and indignation. "But . . . what about--"

"Hogsmeade?" said Harry with a bitter laugh, scuffing his shoe on the floor of the dormitory in agitation. "No, the git did it on purpose. Detention all day, and I can't go. Ginny either."

It was the next morning, following the last day of exams. Saturday, and a Hogsmeade visit--for everyone else, but not for him, thanks to Snape. The brilliant sunlight streaming in through the windows contrasted starkly with Harry's mood.

"What do you have to do for detention?" Ron asked, looking apprehensive.

"Dunno yet. Knowing Snape, something foul. I expect I'll find out this morning."

"I bet you that's what Malfoy was after," said Ron darkly. "Bet you anything. It'd be just like him, wouldn't it, to provoke you on purpose to try to get you in trouble." He glowered menacingly at his four-poster bed.

Harry snorted in derision. "Yeah, maybe," he grumbled sourly. "But we cursed him pretty badly. I don't think he's the type to make that kind of sacrifice just to land me in detention."

Ron was silent. "Well, let's go down to breakfast, anyway," he said after a moment. He went on hesitantly, "Look--we don't have to go to Hogsmeade either. We could stay here--"

"What's the point?" said Harry, giving him an odd look. "Unless you want to be in detention too. You don't have to go all self-sacrificing on me. Go have fun with Hermione." Somehow he managed to keep his voice even.

Ron nodded absently. "Right. Yeah. I just feel bad--you know."

Harry shrugged. "Let's go eat." They exited the dormitory and went down the stairs to the common room, where they found Hermione waiting for them. The three of them began the walk down to the Great Hall.

Harry talked little as they went, giving one-word answers whenever a response was called for. He was rather preoccupied. A vague sense of unease was gnawing at the back of his mind. He supposed it had something to do with the feeling of being trapped that he'd woken up with. Undoubtedly this had been caused by the strange dreams he'd had last night--dreams that had ended with him being pursued to an icy death, he remembered suddenly, a horrible black ice that had arisen in his own heart and consumed him from inside out. He shivered involuntarily.

_Stop it_, Harry told himself firmly, trying to clear his mind as Dumbledore had taught him. _It was just a dream. It can't hurt you._ And as for the dreams that _could_ hurt him--well, he hadn't had any of those for a long time. There was nothing to worry about. He repeated this to himself several times.

But the feelings of unease would not go away.

They approached the Great Hall. Harry gave a wary nod to Theodore Nott, who was leaving. He had gotten to know Nott slightly in the NEWT-level Defence Against the Dark Arts this year--Nott seemed to have a particular interest in the subject.

"I don't trust him," growled Ron after Nott had passed. "Awfully interested in the Dark Arts, that one." Hermione clicked her tongue impatiently.

"Well, what do you expect?" said Ron, as they took their seats at the Gryffindor table. Harry looked around for Ginny, but there was no sign of her. "He's a Slytherin, and his father's a Death Eater, isn't he? So how's he going to know any different?"

"He's interested in _defence_, Ron," countered Hermione. "There's a difference. And he doesn't exactly act like Malfoy, does he? You can't just judge him on who his family is."

"His father was one of the lunatics who tried to kill us last year!" said Ron heatedly. "How's he going to make a different choice if all he knows is hatred and prejudice?"

"Look, I just said you can't--"

"Sirius was from a Dark family, too," said Harry quietly, his voice belying none of the anger he was feeling. Ron looked at him, horrified.

"Harry--"

"Forget it," Harry cut him off, not wanting to hear it. "I know what you meant." He dropped his gaze to the bacon that had suddenly appeared on his plate and began eating. He noticed his head was hurting again. _Stupid headache_, he thought angrily. He'd have to visit Madam Pomfrey if it didn't go away. This was getting ridiculous.

"'The world isn't divided into good people and Death Eaters'," said Hermione, as though reciting. Harry and Ron looked at her. "Sirius told us that, remember? And you remember Mr. Crouch? I guess Sirius knew what he was talking about, didn't he?"

"Yeah," said Ron in an odd voice. "I guess he did." He began shovelling food into his mouth at high speed.

Harry nodded thoughtfully. His dad must have known that too, he realised. To be best friends with someone whose family had a clear leaning towards the Dark Arts, and for that friendship to have endured all through the fighting with Voldemort . . . not to mention that they'd been friends with a werewolf too . . . He wondered how it had all started, how that group of miscreants had first become friends. He'd have to ask Professor Lupin sometime.

He was distracted from his thoughts by the flood of owls entering the Great Hall with the post. He scanned the room for Hedwig, but didn't see her. Across from him, Hermione had finally wrested a copy of _The Daily Prophet_ from an ill-tempered screech owl, which refused to leave until presented with twenty Knuts. "Got some nerve, hasn't he?" said a bemused Ron as the owl took flight.

"Anything good in there?" asked Harry. Hermione quickly scanned the front page.

"Well, no one's been attacked, or it would be here," she said, and Harry felt a slight relief before turning back to his breakfast. Death Eater attacks had become so widespread that their impact on him had lessened over the year, as his mind had hardened itself against news of suffering. He reflected he'd probably have gone mad otherwise--possibly his Occlumency training had something to do with it.

Some part of him knew that this hardening--in himself and in others--was one of the war's greatest tragedies.

"Hmm . . . not much going on today," said Hermione, flipping through the rest of the paper. "Wait--this is interesting. The Ministry's trying to track down Death Eaters through their finances . . . but the Gringotts goblins aren't cooperating. It's still impossible to say whose side they're on, with all their protestations of neutrality."

"I s'pose Dumbledore will want Bill to check that out," said Ron, leaning over her shoulder to read the article. Hermione handed the paper to him. "Go ahead. There's nothing else important in there."

Ron looked through the paper for a few seconds before setting it aside. "Do you realise," he said slowly, looking from Harry to Hermione in turn, "that it's been over three weeks since the Death Eaters have done anything that made the papers?"

"That's good, isn't it?" said Harry, trying to ignore his apprehension at hearing these words. "It means no one's died."

"Yes, but it isn't like them to sit around doing nothing for that long," said Hermione, a look of concentration on her face. "Something's up. Maybe they've gone into hiding, with the Ministry trying to track them down through Gringotts. They can read the _Prophet_ like anyone else--they must know what's going on."

"Or maybe they're trying to lure us into a false sense of security," countered Ron darkly. "Catch everyone off guard with something big."

Harry grimaced as his head gave a particularly painful twinge. Silently cursing whatever had caused his headache, he instinctively looked around the Great Hall, just in time to see Malfoy leaving--once again he was by himself. This struck Harry as very odd. His feelings of unease were growing stronger . . .

"Well, maybe," said Hermione, sounding somewhat doubtful. Harry blinked, his train of thought interrupted. "But I think Dumbledore would know about it if they were planning something really huge. They'd be able to put a stop to it." She seemed unsure, as though trying to convince herself that this was true.

"The Order can't put a stop to everything," said Ron, the merest trace of bitterness belying his otherwise even tone. "Didn't help Percy much, did they?"

No one spoke for a minute after that.

"Potter?" came the voice of Professor McGonagall behind them. Harry looked up at her. "Yes, Professor?"

"Your detention will take place at ten o'clock in Professor Snape's office. Don't be late," she said, a stern look on her face. Harry nodded glumly.

"All right," he said. "Do you know what I have to do in detention, Professor?"

"That is for Professor Snape to decide," said Professor McGonagall. "Oh, and Potter, if you see Miss Weasley, inform that her detention will take place at the same time, won't you?"

"Okay," said Harry. Professor McGonagall gave him a curt nod and departed toward the staff table, where he could see Snape and Dumbledore engaged in conversation. Harry watched them for a few seconds, then turned away.

"Where is Ginny?" said Ron, glancing around the Great Hall.

"Dunno," said Harry. "I expect she's having a lie-in. Not much to look forward to today, is there?" Ron snorted dryly and shook his head. Hermione looked sympathetic but said nothing.

* * *

Ten minutes later Ron and Hermione departed with the crowd for Hogsmeade, leaving Harry behind in the Entrance Hall. He sighed, watching them go. _Might do those two some good to be alone together for a while_, he thought idly. They deserved some time to themselves, when they wouldn't have to deal with worrying about him every minute.

He launched a half-hearted kick at the wall, ignoring its feeble protests as he walked towards the first floor corridor. Glancing at his watch, he saw that it was not yet half past nine, so he had some time before he was due in detention. Briefly he wondered what Snape would do if he didn't show up, then dismissed the idea. He suspected he didn't want to know.

As his head flared painfully again, Harry felt a flash of anger towards Snape for making him miss the Hogsmeade visit. The wizarding village didn't seem nearly as glamorous as it had when he was younger, but he'd really been looking forward to today's visit. Now, it looked like he was going to be spending the day slicing up dead animals instead. Maybe if he charmed them all to look like Snape's stupid face, he'd be able to get through the day . . . Harry chuckled grimly at the thought.

The sound of voices from somewhere above caught his attention. It sounded like shouting, but he could not make out any of the words. Harry looked around, noticing that several of the people in the portraits on the wall were leaving their frames, possibly to investigate the source of the commotion. He hesitated. What was going on?

Just as he decided to ignore it, the shouting stopped. A few seconds later he heard the sound of someone clomping down the stairs ahead of him. Harry recognised him as the same fifth-year boy that had sat with Ginny at dinner the day before. There was a closed look on the his face, as though he were angry and trying not to show it. Harry started to ask what was going on, but the boy pushed past him and stomped on without a word. Harry felt a surge of anger at the boy's brusque manner, but managed to force it aside.

He started slowly up the stairs himself, barely remembering to jump the trick step halfway up, when he saw someone looking down at him from the top of the staircase. It was Ginny. Their eyes met, and for a fleeting second Harry thought he saw a trace of panic cross her face. But then it was gone, and he was sure he had imagined it. "Harry," she said, surprise evident in her voice. "You're here."

"Hi, Ginny," said Harry softly, his gaze locking with hers. They looked at each other in silence for a moment. Ginny was the first to look away. She seemed a bit flustered. _That's odd_, he thought.

"We, er, have our detentions with Snape at ten," said Harry, to fill the awkward pause. Ginny sighed.

"Thanks," she said dryly. "I'd almost managed to forget." He noticed that she was fidgeting with her hands, but she didn't seem aware of it.

"I brought some toast," said Harry, climbing the remaining steps until he was right in front of her. "Here." Ginny appeared surprised by this gesture, but accepted it with a nod. Harry watched her eat. Her hands were shaking slightly, and now that he was up close, he could see that her skin was flushed. She did not look at him as she tore ravenously into the toast he had given her. It was almost as if she were taking out some frustration on it . . .

"Ginny, is something wrong? You look like something's bothering you," Harry said finally, unable to stand the tense silence any longer. When she did not reply, he went on, "I heard shouting--were you in some kind of argument? Is it about that boy who just walked past?"

Ginny looked sharply at him. "What if it was? What does it matter to you?" she snapped defensively, her cheeks reddening. "I have a life apart from you, you know." Harry flinched at the unfairness of her outburst.

"Damn it, Ginny, I'm sorry if I offended you by caring whether you get hurt or not," he said sharply, not entirely able to keep the anger out of his voice. Ginny blanched, looking distressed.

"Harry--"

"No, forget it," Harry cut her off, feeling suddenly foolish. "It isn't my business. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Why did he have to go and muck things up again? How could he tell her what he wanted if they couldn't go five minutes without arguing all of a sudden? He turned away and made to leave.

"Wait."

The sound of her voice made him stop in his tracks. Harry wheeled around to face her once more. Ginny appeared nervous, something he was not accustomed to seeing on her, but there was something else there too--earnestness and determination. She took a deep breath, as though steeling herself for something difficult.

"I--" Ginny faltered, a look of anguish appearing suddenly on her face. Harry felt something in his chest clench painfully at the sight. All his earlier anger had melted away--he wanted nothing more than to put his arms around her, to sooth away whatever was causing her such distress. Somewhere in the back of his mind he registered confusion at the complete turnaround his emotions had taken. How was it possible he could feel so strongly about her?

"What is it?" he asked, stepping towards her again. "Ginny, what's wrong?" Almost without knowing what he was doing, he reached out to take her hand in his. Ginny looked at him, her eyes wide and bright at his touch. She shivered, and Harry felt his heart pounding in his chest. He swallowed uncomfortably.

Ginny cleared her throat, visibly struggling to gain control of herself. Slowly she disengaged her hand from his. "You know I was planning to go to Hogsmeade with John today, right?" she asked, looking intently at a point on his shoulder. Harry nodded silently, trying desperately for her sake not to let the burning jealousy her words had induced show through. _Remember the Occlumency_, he told himself, as his head gave its most painful throb yet. It was proving very difficult to clear his mind.

"He asked me out a few weeks ago," continued Ginny, her voice strengthening, apparently not noticing the effect her words had had on him. "He's funny, and he knows a lot about Quidditch, so I said yes. I didn't have any other plans . . ." _I should have asked her out myself the moment I realised I fancied her_, thought Harry. _Damn it to hell._

"But then we got detention yesterday, so I had to tell him I couldn't go," Ginny went on. "I told him what happened, everyone knows how unfair Snape is--but he didn't like that. Seemed to think I was standing him up." She rolled her eyes in disgust.

"That's not right," said Harry vehemently. "You didn't choose to dump him--as if anyone would rather be in detention than go to Hogsmeade--"

"I know," said Ginny, shaking her head, "but he said some nasty things to me. He seemed to think that . . ." she paused, and to Harry's amazement, blushed. "He thought I was skipping the date so that I could be with you instead. Which is _ridiculous_--"

Harry flinched, simultaneously taken aback by this unexpected news and stung by her final words. "What's ridiculous?" he asked sharply, unable to conceal his hurt. "Am I so repulsive the idea of going on a date with me abhors you?" He started to turn away, but Ginny reached out to grab his upper arm and pulled him back to her.

"I never said that!" she cried, a mix of anger and astonishment on her face. "Harry--"

She broke off, paling slightly under the intensity of his gaze. Harry's breath was coming in ragged gasps. He could feel himself being undone by their proximity. He could see every detail of her face, now mere inches from his--every freckle, every bead of sweat on her forehead, every strand of hair falling into her eyes. Her lips were parted slightly, and Harry shuddered as he saw her tongue appear briefly between them.

"Ginny," he whispered, reaching up to push the hair out her eyes--eyes that were shining with bright brown fire. Harry could feel himself being pulled into them, even as the fire in his own eyes was propelling him forward. Something enormous, something powerfully familiar, seemed to be rising inside him . . . a great surge of feeling shot suddenly between them, like an invisible thread connecting them for just an instant . . . Ginny gasped as their lips drew ever closer . . . this was it . . .

And without warning, the whole thing went straight to hell.

Pain flared along Harry's scar, pain such as he had not experienced since Sirius had died. His scar was surely on fire; it was as if someone were drilling into his head with a red-hot iron . . . it was only a question of whether he was incinerated before his skull came apart completely . . . dimly he was aware that he was screaming like he had never screamed before . . .

And as suddenly as it had begun, the pain in his scar was gone. Harry was shaking uncontrollably, gasping for breath; vaguely he registered that he was on the floor, holding his head tightly in his hands. He gagged and choked, thinking it a wonder that he hadn't already thrown up.

"Harry!" a voice cried above him. He felt himself being rolled over, and saw Ginny crouched next to him, a look of intense anguish on her face. "Harry, what's happening?"

"Voldemort . . . Hogsmeade . . . got to save . . ." he muttered thickly. Flashes of imagery and sound were going through his head at lightning speed--shouted curses . . . voices, screaming in terror . . . bursts of blinding green light . . . a horrible, pervasive darkness, covering everything . . . and above it all, a high, cruel laughter, filled with malice and hatred . . .

Shivering with sudden cold, Harry tried to stand; Ginny helped pull him to his feet. He looked wildly around the corridor. Ron and Hermione were in danger . . . he had to go to them right away . . .

"Harry, what's going on?" demanded Ginny urgently. Harry wheeled to face her, the strength of her voice cutting through the haze of desperation in his mind. "Voldemort--the Death Eaters are attacking Hogsmeade," he told her quickly, his heart pounding madly. Ginny's eyes went wide. "Come on--we've got to do something." He made to dash away down the stairs, but Ginny's hand on his arm stopped him.

"Harry--what if it's a trap?" she asked, looking terrified. "We can't just go charging out there without knowing what's happening!" Harry felt as though an icy knife had been plunged into his chest as he let out his breath in a rush. Her words had brought home the familiarity of the situation--it was eerily similar to what had happened last year with Sirius . . .

"What are we going to do then?" he demanded, more harshly than he had intended. He knew very well that she was right to stop him running off, but the thought of doing nothing when his friends were in deadly danger was more than he could bear.

"We'll tell Dumbledore," said Ginny decisively. "The Order--they can put a stop to it--"

It was all Harry needed to hear. Wondering in the back of his mind why the thought had not even occurred to him, he sprinted down the corridor towards another flight of stairs, heading for the Headmaster's office, Ginny right behind him. Before he had even reached the stairs, however, he saw Dumbledore striding rapidly towards him. One look at his face told Harry that he already knew what was happening.

"Sir--Professor--Hogsmeade--" Harry gasped, trying to catch his breath. Dumbledore looked at him gravely. "I know," he said. "Listen to me, Harry--you must return to your common room at once, do you understand me?" he continued urgently. Harry started to protest, but Dumbledore interrupted him. "I haven't much time--I must go to Hogsmeade at once--the Order are already battling the Death Eaters, but they are outnumbered. Your time has not yet come, Harry." He was regarding him with a look of such intensity that Harry felt a chill run down his spine. "Soon you will be ready to face Voldemort, but that time has not yet arrived. Be patient--it may be sooner than you think." With that Dumbledore turned briskly on his heel and marched at a great pace down the corridor. Harry watched him go. It was immensely frustrating to be told to do nothing, while his friends even now might already be dead or dying . . .

His scar was hurting again, but not so badly as before. He took a deep breath, willing himself to be calm, but the pain in his head was making it exceptionally difficult. His headache had reached new heights of intensity--a headache, he realised, that had nothing whatsoever to do with his scar . . . Harry shivered. His earlier feelings of unease had returned in full force. Something was very wrong here, but he didn't know what.

"Harry?" said Ginny, regarding him intently. "What is it?"

For a moment Harry did not reply. "Something's not right here," he said at last.

"What do you mean?"

"This attack--there's something wrong about it, but I don't--"

He broke off as movement caught his eye. Turning he saw a figure at the far end of the corridor, a figure regarding him with an unmistakable smirk on his face--_Malfoy_.

And even as Harry watched him, Malfoy turned and vanished around a corner.

Suddenly, without knowing how he knew, Harry realised that Malfoy must be planning something awful. His feelings of unease grew to dread as he tried to recall, to bring the elusive thing that had been weighing in the back of his mind into focus . . .

"Malfoy--he's up to something," Harry said abruptly. "I'm going after him."

"Then I'm going with you," said Ginny. Harry opened his mouth to tell her no, that she should go back to the common room, but Ginny cut him off before he had uttered a word.

"I'm going with you," she repeated forcefully, a steely look on her face. "Don't even try to tell me I'm too young!"

Knowing there was no time to waste and that arguing would get him nowhere, Harry nodded curtly and raced down the corridor where Malfoy had gone, Ginny hot on his heels. He could feel his anger mounting as he ran, infuriated that Malfoy was plotting something while the teachers were distracted by the Hogsmeade attack. Had he known it was going to happen? Was he under orders from his father to do whatever he was doing? Harry's head was pounding. He could barely think through the reckless energy permeating his mind.

They came to another staircase, a circular one spanning several floors. Looking down, he could see Malfoy on the first floor, moving rapidly in the direction of the Entrance Hall. Harry leaped down the stairs three at a time, pushing his way through a group of frightened-looking second years, ignoring their protests at his rude behaviour.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Harry ran as fast as he could to the Entrance Hall. Finding it deserted, he looked around in confusion. Where had he gone?

His scar flared painfully again. Then suddenly it came to him--Malfoy had gone out onto the grounds. Taking out his wand, he made his way cautiously to the front doors and opened them, looking warily around. What did Malfoy want out here? Was it possible he wasn't up to anything at all? Harry shook his head; he had to find out what was going on.

"Where did he go?" asked Ginny, arriving at his side, looking tense and alert.

"I don't--wait, there he is," said Harry, as he saw a figure making its way in the direction of the greenhouses. It had to be Malfoy--apart from the three of them the grounds were completely deserted. "Come on," he said, setting off after him, and Ginny followed.

As it neared the greenhouses, the figure, now unmistakably visible as Malfoy, stopped walking and turned around. "Potter, Weasley," he said, sneering, as they drew nearer. "Nice of you to join me out here on such a fine day. Enjoying being banned from the village now, are we? I suppose you two ought to thank me for getting you stuck here."

Instantly, Harry and Ginny pointed their wands at Malfoy's face.

"What are you up to, Malfoy?" Harry snarled. "You knew this was going to happen, didn't you?"

"Did I say that?" said Malfoy lazily. To Harry's amazement, he had not even flinched at the sight of two wands aimed point-blank at his face.

"What are you up to?" demanded Ginny, her tone fiercer than Harry had ever heard it. "Our friends are fighting for their lives out there, and you--"

"Please," said Malfoy, sounding bored. "I'm simply taking a stroll around the grounds. It's not my doing the Mudbloods are getting what they deserve--"

Sparks flew from Ginny's wand. Harry thought she was probably seconds from cursing him, as he was himself--

A sudden movement caught his attention. Looking down, he saw a rat moving along the ground, several feet behind Malfoy. He was about to dismiss it, when he noticed something shining underneath it. Eyeing it more closely, he saw, with horrible clarity, what was causing it--one of the rat's front paws was silver.

_Wormtail._

Abruptly, as if sensing it had been spotted, the rat darted away at high speed. Harry stared after it in shock for a moment. He could feel the pain in his head flaring up again, worse by far than it had ever been. A hot, sickening anger was building inside him, a reckless and unreasoning hatred. Wormtail, here? This was the man who had betrayed Harry's parents, who had murdered Cedric and helped bring Voldemort back . . . it was his fault Sirius had died . . .

With a scream of rage Harry pushed past Malfoy and tore after the rat, not heeding where he was going, barely registering Ginny's voice calling after him to wait, not caring about anything except catching Pettigrew and making him pay for everything he had done, every way he had ruined Harry's life and the lives of others . . .

Through the dizzying fog clouding his mind he heard Malfoy shout something behind him; an instant later he heard Ginny's answering cry, "_Protego!_" Wheeling around, he saw Malfoy blasted backwards in a flash of light. A few seconds later there came the unmistakable sound of him vomiting slugs all over the ground.

Harry did not give him a second glance. He turned back and begin to sprint after the rat, which he could just make out in the distance. Malfoy's attack on Ginny had delayed him, had given Pettigrew too much of a lead . . . he'd never be able to catch him . . . _Damn!_ he thought frantically. Malfoy must have known he was there--had he let him into the school, taking advantage of the teachers being occupied in Hogsmeade? What did Pettigrew hope to accomplish?

"Harry, wait!" He could hear Ginny struggling to keep up behind him. "What are you doing?"

"It's Wormtail!" Harry threw over his shoulder as he ran. The blinding pain in his head was such that he barely noticed he had chased him all the way to the Forbidden Forest. Without hesitation he plunged in after him. He could hear the scampering of the rat up ahead, but could no longer see him.

In less than a minute he had completely lost track of his quarry. How could he possibly hope to find a rat in the middle of a forest? Pettigrew was going to escape again, just like he had after they'd found him in the Shrieking Shack.

Looking around, Harry found that he had completely lost his sense of direction. He didn't know where he was . . . suddenly he was scared. What on earth had possessed him to chase Wormtail all the way out here? He cursed himself for his stupidity. Had that been the point? But then, what--

He could hear someone crashing through the undergrowth to his right. Turning wildly, Harry raised his wand, but lowered it again when he saw who it was. "Ginny," he said, relieved.

Her reply was interrupted by another crashing sound, this time behind him. Harry spun around. "_Stupefy!_" he shouted, seeing movement in the distance. The flash of red light was nearly blinding in the unnatural gloom of the forest. He could just make out the shape of an animal--a unicorn, he thought--darting away from the blast.

Harry exhaled heavily. He felt suddenly exhausted, as well as foolish. He shivered, and noticed that the light level had dropped considerably, though it was still mid-morning. _What the--_

"Harry," said Ginny suddenly, gripping his arm, "We have to get out of here!"

And with a sudden thrill of dread, Harry realised what was happening. It was impossible, completely and utterly impossible, that they could be here, but there was no other explanation. The forest was now almost pitch-black, and he could feel the awful sensation of freezing cold, emptying him of all happy thoughts . . .

Dementors.

Voices had begun screaming in his head. Harry felt a well of despair growing inside him. He had once driven away over a hundred dementors, when he had saved Sirius in his third year, but he had been far away from them at the time . . . he didn't think he could possibly fight them off this time, but he had to try . . .

Harry raised his wand. "_Expecto_--"

"_Expelliarmus!_" cried a shrill voice from somewhere to his left. There was another flash of red, and Harry felt his wand go flying out of his hand, landing with a clatter somewhere far away.

_Shit!_ Without a wand, he didn't have a hope of fighting them off--

Frantically he turned towards Ginny, who still had her wand. Wormtail's Disarming Spell had illuminated the forest for a second, and he had seen that there were at least fifty hooded figures fast approaching through the trees. They had no choice but to run for it . . . but the icy cold was sapping his strength, and he could barely move . . . Harry felt his foot catch on a large root, and he went sprawling to the ground.

He could hear Ginny chanting beside him, "_Expecto Patronum . . . Expecto . . . Expecto Patronum . . ._" Her voice was unsteady, and she sounded deathly afraid. A faint white mist burst from the end of her wand. Harry looked up at her, struggling to get back on his feet.

"Ginny, think of something happy!" he yelled. His mother was screaming in his ears, pleading with Voldemort not to kill him . . . Voldemort was laughing, telling him to bow to death . . . Bellatrix was yelling in triumph as Sirius fell through the veil . . .

"I'm trying!" cried Ginny desperately. "_Expecto_--"

But she couldn't do it. She'd never done the charm faced with a real dementor before, he realised. Harry found he could no longer move. There was no way for them to escape--they were going to be Kissed by the dementors. Ginny gasped in horror as the hooded figures drew nearer. He could see her collapsing to the ground, as the strength of her legs gave out. Her Patronus faded and died, and they were plunged into complete darkness.

Strong, clammy hands seized him, and Harry felt himself being pulled to his feet. This was it--this was the end . . . how he would like to surrender to the darkness, to let himself fall, to give in to his despair and feel nothing ever again . . . He heard himself pleading with Ginny not to be dead as Tom Riddle mocked him . . . at least she would be the last thing he ever thought of, even though he had failed her . . .

The hands lifted him into the air, and he felt himself being carried away over the ground. What was happening? Why was he being taken away instead of Kissed?

He couldn't bring himself to care any longer. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to be carried away as conscious thought left him.

Harry fell into blackness.

_Note: If any of you are seized by the temptation to scream and throw things through the ether, I have this to say: it's undoubtedly better not to be kissed at all than to be Kissed by a dementor! Don't worry, there's still quite a bit of story left to tell._

I want to acknowledge the influence of the awesome **Velvethope**. Her portrayal of romantic tension was a source of inspiration for me in writing this chapter. (Though I daresay this isn't quite so, er, tense, as some of her work!)


	4. Pain and Grief

**To Save a Life**  
_A Harry Potter story by hairyhen_

_Chapter 4: Pain and Grief_

The dementors were closing in all around her. Ginny gasped for air as she waited for the end, unable to move from the ground.

She could hear Tom Riddle's voice in her head, mocking her. "_Goodbye, sweet Ginevra. There is no one to save you now . . . your precious Potter will be too late . . . just give in to the darkness, let it claim you . . ._" His high, cold laughter was echoing all around her--it would be the last thing she ever heard . . .

A pair of horribly cold hands were pulling her to her feet. Ginny felt herself go limp. She had no will to resist, no desire to fight the doom that was fast approaching. She was losing consciousness . . .

Dimly she heard a voice in the distance, shaky at first, then gaining strength. "_Expecto--Expecto Patronum!_" A brilliant white light was flooding her senses, even through her closed eyelids. Ginny felt the horrible hands release her, and she went tumbling to the ground. The dementors were withdrawing, driven back by the Patronus--she was saved.

"Ginny!" the voice cried. A moment later she felt herself being lifted in the air again. Was it--_Hagrid_?

Ginny opened her eyes. The forest was returning to its normal light level, still unnaturally gloomy for the time of day. She shivered violently, feeling the awful cold lingering on inside her.

"Harry," she muttered, looking around from her vantage point on Hagrid's shoulder. "Hagrid--Harry--" Harry was nowhere in sight. Where had he gone?

"Come on," said Hagrid urgently. "Let's get yeh out of here." The trees began to move quickly by, as Hagrid set off at a tremendous pace through the forest with her still on his shoulder. She could hear Fang barking as he ran alongside them.

"Hagrid, they took him, he's gone!" cried Ginny in desperation. Didn't he understand? Harry must even now be on his way to You-Know-Who, if the dementors hadn't Kissed him already . . .

"Took who?" asked Hagrid worriedly, slowing his pace.

"Harry!" Ginny could feel herself weakening as she began to tremble uncontrollably. Her vision was blurring, and she could not think clearly through the fog clouding her mind.

If Hagrid replied, she didn't hear it. With a faint gasp, Ginny gave in to the cold and despair, as she sank into unconsciousness.

The next thing she knew was a blinding white light. She tried to block it out, but found that her eyes were already closed. Faint voices could be heard somewhere in the distance.

"Lucky Hagrid was there--"

"What on earth were they doing in the forest?"

"How could they have gotten in?"

With a tremendous effort, Ginny opened her eyes. It took a few seconds for the scene to register, for her mind seemed to be moving very slowly. Gradually her eyes adjusted to the light.

She was in the hospital wing, lying comfortably in bed with her head propped against several pillows. She didn't know how she'd gotten here, but at the moment Ginny didn't care if she ever moved from this position again. How she would like to drift back into sleep . . .

A sudden tightness in her throat made her cough. The sound attracted the attention of the people sitting quietly at the side of the bed.

"Ginny! You're awake!" Ginny managed to turn her head in the direction of the voice, and saw Ron and Hermione looking anxiously back at her.

"Yeah," she said, coughing again. "What's going on, what happened, where's Harry--"

She broke off as another coughing spell hit, worse than before. When it had subsided, Ron held out his hand to her. He was holding a block of chocolate the size of a brick.

"Madam Pomfrey told us to give this to you when you'd woken up," he said quietly. "She's a bit busy at the moment--"

This was certainly true; the nurse could be seen bustling frantically about the hospital wing. It looked like she was trying to tend to at least twenty patients at once. Several students appeared to be helping her.

Ginny took the chocolate from Ron without looking at it. A sudden thought occurred to her. "Hogsmeade!" she cried, trying valiantly to sit up. Hermione forced her back down again. Ginny took a bite of chocolate and continued, "There was an attack--what happened?"

Hermione and Ron looked at each other. Hermione swallowed, appearing close to tears. "It was awful," she said, her voice shaking, as Ron put a supportive hand on her shoulder. Taking an unsteady breath, she went on, "The Death Eaters were everywhere, cursing people as they tried to run--torturing them, levitating them in the air and letting them fall, putting people under the Imperius Curse . . . and then there were the dementors . . ."

A strangled cry came from her throat as tears began to flow freely down her face. Hermione turned and flung her arms around Ron's neck. Ron put one arm around her in return--the other, Ginny noticed, was bound in a sling.

No one spoke for a few minutes. Ginny took a few more bites of chocolate. She could feel its warming effects on her body, giving her strength, but nothing could sate the feeling of emptiness inside her. She coughed and gasped for breath.

"A lot of people got Kissed by the dementors," said Ron after a while. Ginny felt her eyes go wide with horror. "It was the most horrible thing I've ever seen. They just went sort of rigid--like they were trying to scream, but couldn't make a sound. And then afterwards--they just had this blank stare on their faces, like they didn't have a clue what was going on--"

Ron trailed off, clearing his throat. He looked as though he were making a mighty effort not to cry himself.

"Who got Kissed?" asked Ginny softly. Ron looked away, not meeting her eyes. "Please, tell me," Ginny said, reaching out to take his hand. "I want to know."

"Michael Corner," said Hermione, in a very small voice. "And--and Cho Chang."

Ginny felt as if she had been punched in stomach, as a blow of shock went through her. How could this have happened? She'd been angry with Michael for a while after their break-up last year, and to her shame, she'd harboured a faint resentment against Cho for a long time, despite her best efforts to force it away. But she'd been on reasonably good terms with both of them this year--certainly she'd never wished either of them any harm. To hear that they'd become victims of the Dementor's Kiss--especially after having been in the DA--was more than she could bear.

"It's so hard to do the Patronus with the dementors right there in front of you," said Hermione. "I don't know how--how Harry ever managed it. It seemed easy enough when he taught us last year, but we were just in a bright room then."

Ginny had a fleeting thought that she'd never found the Patronus to be an easy spell, even in the best of circumstances. And she remembered suddenly that she hadn't been able to do it in the forest--

Taking another bite of chocolate, and breathing deeply, she steeled herself for her next question. "Where's Harry?" she asked. He had to be around somewhere--he was probably in the next room--

No answered her. Ginny felt a whine of panic beginning to cloud her thoughts. She could think of nothing but Harry. Where was he? Why wouldn't they answer her?

"He isn't--he's not--"

"We don't know where he is," said Ron, his voice trembling. "Hagrid said you told him Harry was missing, that the dementors took him away in the forest--"

Ginny could not remember saying any such thing, but she knew at once that it must be true. Harry was gone--she'd failed him, she hadn't been able to do the Patronus . . .

"But they'll look for him, won't they?" she said, trying desperately to hold on to whatever hope she could. "Dumbledore and the Order, they'll find him. They'll bring him back."

"They can't," said Hermione. She looked to be on the verge of tears again.

"Why not?" Ginny demanded harshly. Of course the Order would look for Harry. They had to!

"Because . . . because . . . oh, Ginny, the Order--"

"They took a real beating in this attack," said Ron stoically. "They were outnumbered, and there were so many innocent people in the way--students, villagers--people injured and dying everywhere. They couldn't fight off them all off, even when the Ministry Aurors showed up it was still a tough fight--a lot of them were killed in the attack. Hestia Jones, Elphias Doge, that new bloke Collins, Moody--"

"But what about Dumbledore? He's the most powerful wizard in the world--and he knows all about Harry. Why doesn't he--"

"Dumbledore . . . is in St. Mungo's," said Hermione, as if she could not believe her own words. "Professor McGonagall told us. They don't know if he'll live."

Ginny was shocked. Dumbledore, in St. Mungo's? What could possibly do that to the only wizard You-Know-Who had ever feared? What hope did they have without him?

"He got hurt--by the giants," said Ron. "About twenty of them showed up towards the end--they knocked him around like he was nothing--"

"The Aurors killed them all," said Hermione. "All of them. It was awful."

Ginny felt as though she were falling into a bottomless chasm of despair. "What about Mum and Dad, and Bill?" she asked, preparing herself for the worst.

"They're fine," said Ron. Ginny felt a profound relief at this news. She sank back onto the bed, feeling the tears welling up in her eyes.

Immediately her thoughts went back to Harry--Harry, who had been taken away by the dementors, and was now most likely dead. Harry, whom she had failed through her own weakness and inability to do the Patronus Charm. Harry, who had so nearly kissed her this morning--

"But they've got to do something!" she cried, as hopelessness threatened to overwhelm her. "They can't just give up! We need Harry!" _I need Harry_, she thought.

"We tried to ask them what they were going to do," said Hermione. "But everyone's busy--tending the wounded, trying to find out how the dementors could have gotten into the school in the first place. And they don't have any idea where he is--even Snape doesn't know. He says he didn't have any idea what was going to happen."

_Rubbish_, Ginny thought, a savage anger at Snape building inside her. _He doesn't care about Harry, he probably banned him from Hogsmeade on purpose so Wormtail could lure him into the forest_--

She shook her head, some part of her realising she was being ridiculous. It was entirely possible that the plan to capture Harry--for she knew now that that had been the aim of Malfoy's and Wormtail's plot--had been conceived without Snape's knowledge. If You-Know-Who suspected him of being a double agent, he would have kept him out of the loop. The attack on Hogsmeade, brutal as it was, had merely been a gigantic diversion to get everyone out of the way so that the dementors would have a free hand at Harry in the forest.

"A lot of people in the Order don't even believe in the Prophecy. Especially the newer people," said Ron, very quietly. Ginny could hear the unchecked bitterness in his voice as he spoke. "They want to give him up for dead. They say they can't risk wasting manpower and resources trying to find him, when they've got so much else to deal with, and when . . ." He trailed off. "When it's likely that You-Know-Who has probably killed him already. Bill told us." As he said this last, Ron's voice broke, and tears began to run silently down his face.

Ginny felt as though someone had plunged an icy knife into her heart. "It's my fault," she said, her own voice breaking. "I could have stopped him from going into the forest, but I went with him, I didn't even stop to think what might be happening . . . and I couldn't do the Patronus . . . it's my fault he's gone . . ." _And we were arguing just before the attack . . . he was going to kiss me . . . I never even got to say goodbye . . ._ She could not bear to voice aloud these thoughts.

"No one blames you, Ginny," said Hermione quietly. "It isn't your fault--you couldn't have known--"

But her voice was lacking its usual conviction as she said this. Ginny fancied there was something accusatory in her face, and looked away, unable to meet her eyes. She could feel her own tears beginning to flow, and didn't try to stop them.

The three of them sat crying together, mourning the friend they had lost, until the evening sun shone red through the window on the horizon.

* * *

_Darkness._

Cold.

Slowly, painfully, as though he were inching his way to the surface from the bottom of an endlessly deep ocean, Harry felt himself regaining consciousness.

His first coherent thought was that he did not know where he was. His second was that he did not know how he had gotten there. His third was that he could not see a thing.

Harry's next thought was an immediate and horrifying answer to all of these.

He could hear the voices screaming inside his head. A horrible cold was filling him, tearing apart his insides. He knew he would surely die of it if he did not get away. He had to escape.

With a mighty wrench, Harry tried to move himself forward. A sudden, intense pain shot through him, as though someone had put a hundred thousand volts through his body, and Harry screamed. It was horrible . . . it felt as though every nerve in his body were on fire . . . the pain would surely kill him if it didn't stop . . . He could not move, for his body had gone completely rigid . . .

As abruptly as it had begun, the pain stopped. Harry gasped for breath, feeling himself collapse. But he did not reach the floor. Dimly he recognised that he standing with his back to a wall, his arms chained tightly to the wall on either side of him, perpendicular to the rest of his body. The pain had begun in the chains attached to his wrists--he knew they must activate whenever he tried to struggle. He resolved not to do it again. Struggling would accomplish nothing--there was no way for him to escape.

An icy despair was threatening to drag him down into oblivion. Harry could not think of any way to get out of his current position. He was trapped. Voldemort had fooled them all--such a simple, clever plan, using Malfoy and Wormtail to lure him into the forest while everyone else was distracted by the Hogsmeade attack--and he had fallen right into it. He had allowed his anger to get the best of him . . . blinded by that terrible, unnatural headache, he had not stopped to think about what he was doing, never knowing that he was walking into a trap, until it was too late.

Harry's head bolted up in shock as he remembered. Ginny had been with him in the forest. What had happened to her? She hadn't been able to do the Patronus, and no one had come to save them. Surely the dementors must have gotten her.

A feeling of sickness was rising inside him. Ginny was gone--the dementors had gotten to her first, they had Kissed her before he could . . . Harry heard a horrible, mad laughter, and realised it was coming from his own mouth. He did not try to stop it. He was so slow, he had wasted so much time, that even the dementors had gotten to kiss Ginny before him . . . it was funny . . . he could not stop laughing . . . Harry felt himself begin to pitch forward as he lost control of his own movements, and his laughter turned to screams as the chains began to shock him again.

As the pain and screaming subsided, Harry gasped for breath, his body shaking uncontrollably. Vaguely he wondered what he had been laughing about. There certainly wasn't anything funny about his current situation. He was imprisoned, no doubt in some stronghold of Voldemort's, with the dementors guarding him, and he had no way to escape. It was as if he were in Azkaban, before the dementors had deserted the Ministry to join Voldemort.

_Why, though?_ some part of him wondered, somehow registering in his mind through all the screaming voices. Why was he being held captive, instead of Kissed or killed? What could Voldemort possibly want from him? Given the number of times he had escaped in the past--he could remember nothing of how he had actually escaped, knowing only that he had, somehow--wouldn't Voldemort want him dead as soon as possible? Unless he just wanted to make him suffer before finishing him off . . . in which case he was doing an admirable job of it.

How long he stood there in the dark, chained, hearing the screaming voices in his head over and over again, Harry did not know. Eventually, however, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching, and a voice saying, "Leave us." Harry looked around, feeling his muscles tense, becoming more alert despite the fog obscuring his thoughts.

He could hear a swishing of cloaks, and felt rather than saw several hooded figures moving away from him. The voices in his head were softer now, muted, less distinct--the dementors must have withdrawn some distance. His head had become slightly clearer . . .

"_Lumos_."

Looking up, Harry could just make out the shape of a tall figure standing a few feet in front of him. He could see nothing of its face, other than two faintly glowing points of red light. It was Voldemort.

For a moment the two stared at each other, neither saying a word. Then at last, Voldemort spoke.

"Well, Mr. Potter, I see you are awake at last," he said softly. Harry did not reply. Voldemort went on, "So kind of you to join us in my humble abode. I trust you're enjoying your stay?" His tone was mocking and cruel. Harry felt a flash of anger awake inside him. His thoughts became clearer.

"Whatever it is you want, just say it and be done," he spat, somehow managing to put a confidence he did not feel into his voice. "If you're going to kill me, then go ahead. I have nothing to say to you."

Voldemort laughed then, and Harry felt a sharp pain along his scar. He clenched his mouth tightly shut to stop himself crying out.

"Oh no, Mr. Potter, I'm afraid you have very much to say to me before I dispose of you. You can either tell me what I want to know willingly, or not, as you wish. The choice is entirely your own. If you do tell me, without too much fuss, it will ease your passing considerably. If not, then . . ." he trailed off ominously.

Harry felt a stab of fear as he imagined the fate awaiting him. This was it--he was surely going to die. He was alone, trapped in Voldemort's lair, without a hope of being rescued. No one even knew he was here . . . they must surely think him dead . . . he should just give up, and tell him what he wanted to know, and let it all end . . . he wouldn't have to worry about anything ever again . . . Unbidden, an image flashed through his mind, that of a small glass sphere. It was a very familiar sight, though it had been a year since he'd seen it.

More images were flying across Harry's field of vision. He realised that they were his own memories, being replayed at high speed. They seemed to moving towards a particular point in time--a time when he had been in Dumbledore's office, a time when he was throwing and smashing things about the room in a rage, a time when Professor Trelawney was speaking harshly into the silence out of the Pensieve . . .

"Yes," whispered Voldemort, the merest trace of satisfaction in his voice. "That's it, Harry . . . just tell me what it says . . . that's all I want to know . . ."

He heard the words, as clearly as if they were being spoken aloud right then and there. "_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies_ . . ."

_No_, said a second voice in Harry's head, struggling to make itself heard. But the other voice was continuing--

"_ . . . and the Dark Lord shall mark_--"

_NO!_ cried the second voice, much stronger this time. Harry felt a shock of pain, and he was screaming as the chains once again did their work--but an incredibly powerful force had pushed itself outward from his mind--

Suddenly he was aware of his surroundings again, as the unwanted memory vanished from view. He opened his eyes, just in time to make out the red-eyed figure in front of him go flying backwards, landing with a crash several feet away.

Harry gasped for breath as his mind caught with what had just happened. He had done it--he had forced Voldemort out of his mind. Without even realising what he was doing, his Occlumency skills had taken over, protecting the one thing he knew Voldemort must never hear, the one thing he wanted to know above all else . . .

Voldemort had gotten to his feet. "So," he said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You resist. I offered you the chance to tell me willingly, but you would not. Very well, Potter, as you wish. You will find that I have my ways of persuading people to tell me what I want to know . . ."

Harry was drained, completely exhausted from the effort of having forced aside Voldemort's mental intrusion. He didn't know how he could possibly keep defending himself, when it had cost him so much just the first time.

The screaming voices in his head were growing louder again, and Harry was plunged into complete darkness as overwhelming despair flooded over him. He could hear the awful sound of the dementors drawing their rattling breaths, and he felt his insides begin to freeze again.

"It has come to my attention, Potter," said Voldemort thoughtfully, "that our hooded friends here have a particularly strong effect on you. I can't imagine why . . . Perhaps you have no happy memories on which to dwell?"

Dimly Harry wondered what he could possibly mean by happy memories. The concept was meaningless to him . . . he knew nothing but fear and hopelessness . . . there was no point in living when that was all he knew . . . _Let it end_, he thought desperately. _Please, let it all end._

"Ah, I know just the thing!" said Voldemort, sounding delighted. "You'd like to have a happy memory, wouldn't you, Harry? I'll give you one, if you like. Are you ready?"

Harry felt a sudden thrill of dread. _Remember the Occlumency_, said a voice in his head, very faintly. _Don't give him what he wants._ He knew that this was very important, that he had to hold on, to keep fighting, no matter what, though he could no longer remember why it was important . . .

The scene changed . . .

_He was walking briskly towards a large house set back from the road, striding purposefully up the stone path. His wand was in his hand. Tonight he would be rid of this nemesis--after this no one would dare stand in his way. He would be invincible . . . A cruel smile twisted his lips at the thought of it._

As he came to the door, Harry raised his wand. "Reducto," _he said, and the door exploded noisily into a million pieces. He stepped forward and entered the house._

He could hear a man's voice shouting from a room nearby. "Lily, take Harry and go! It's him! Go! Run! I'll hold him off--"

A nearby door opened suddenly with a crash, and a man with dark hair and glasses burst into the room. "Stupefy!" _he roared, pointing his wand at Harry, who swatted the bolt aside._

"Well now, we meet again, James Potter," said Harry with an evil smile. "I must say, it's been too long. I've so enjoyed our little chats in the past. Where are your wife and son? Perhaps you'll invite them down here to join us--"

James' second Stunner interrupted him. Once again he deflected the blast.

"You'll never touch Harry!" shouted James, sending a Bludgeoning spell his way. "I'll die first!"

Harry laughed. "You're right, Potter," he said, deflecting the spell straight back at him, so that James was forced to leap aside to avoid it. "You will die first. Avada Kedavra!"

_There was a brilliant flash of green light, and James dropped to quickly to the floor to avoid the curse, which sailed over his head and ignited a table in the next room._

James raised his wand, aimed it at a point behind Harry. "Reducto!" _There was a sudden crash behind him, and Harry looked around to see what had caused it--_

A splintered chest of Quidditch balls lay in ruins in the next room. A pair of Bludgers burst into the air, sailing madly towards him. For an instant, Harry felt a stab of irrational fear, then forced it aside. "Evanesco," _he said, waving his wand at the Bludgers, and they Vanished without trace. A sudden premonition struck--_

He turned quickly on his heel and Disapparated, reappearing across the room--in time to see a stag charging towards the point he had just occupied, its antlers lowered to gore him. The stag turned suddenly back into a man, who looked wildly around, trying to see where he had gone. Spotting him, he raised his wand--

"Crucio!"

_James fell to the floor, screaming and thrashing about in agony. So Potter was an Animagus, Harry thought, mildly interested, wondering how such a fact could have escaped his notice. He shook his head; they were wasting time. He had more important business awaiting._

"And so it ends," he gloated, releasing the spell, as James lay panting on the floor. "You have fought bravely, Potter. I always value bravery--but your time has come. Without true power, you are nothing. You cannot hope to defeat me . . . and I will destroy your son . . . there will be none to oppose me." He raised his wand again as James moved suddenly, quicker than he would have thought possible, reaching for his own wand on the floor . . . he was on his feet, aiming at Harry . . .

"Expelliar--"

"Avada Kedavra."

_There was another blinding green flash, a rushing sound of something huge moving through the air--and the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the floor. Harry gazed into James Potter's face, frozen forever in an expression of defiance and fearless determination, eyes wide and staring at nothing, and he laughed, a high-pitched laugh filled with hatred and cruel triumph . . ._

And even as he laughed, Harry screamed, his scar seeming to burst into flame, threatening to split his skull in two.

_NO!_ he thought, his body shaking uncontrollably. He was a murderer, he had killed James . . .

"You didn't like the happy memory, Harry?" said Voldemort, laughing at him, and Harry's scar burned worse than ever. "Why, perhaps you'd do better to stick with unhappy ones, then. You have such an abundance of them--"

But Harry suddenly felt a new resolve. His father had not given up--he had fought to the bitter end, trying to defend himself and his family, even knowing that he would die, and Harry knew that he had to do the same. He was sure he was going to die, that he was fast approaching his end, but he couldn't give in to Voldemort's demands, even if it meant his death would be much more painful . . . even if he didn't know why he was fighting any longer, he knew he had to resist . . .

The thought gave him strength. He could feel his mind clearing slightly. _Occlumency!_ Harry thought suddenly. If he could block out the screaming in his mind, he could keep his focus, stay alive as long as possible. He began to run through the Occlumency exercises, somehow able to clear his mind despite the awful cold still penetrating him. It was working--the screaming voices were decreasing in volume . . . he could no longer make out any of the words . . . but he could think of nothing else, either . . . his mind was completely empty, deprived of all happy thoughts by the dementors, shutting out his horrible memories with Occlumency . . . Harry found he could barely think any longer. He didn't think he could keep his mind empty for long before he went mad altogether.

His scar began to hurt again as a sudden flash of anger jolted through him, an anger not his own. "So, Potter, you still resist," said Voldemort, not sounding remotely amused now. "Well, no matter . . . we have plenty of time, I am in no hurry . . . you are not going anywhere . . . I will kill you in the end, no matter how long it takes to break you . . . perhaps you would respond to a dose of pain?"

Harry braced himself for the inevitable as Voldemort cried, "_Crucio!_" He screamed, again and again, as the curse seemed to tear his body apart from the inside. It would be better just to die, he would do anything to end this agony . . . but he couldn't . . .

Harry didn't know how much longer he could hold out.

_Note: Thanks to **St. Margarets** for giving me advice on writing Ginny's point of view, as I'd been nervous about it for a long time. I also appreciate her analysis of Harry and his relation James and to Voldemort--definitely a fascinating concept._


	5. Decisions

**To Save a Life**  
_A Harry Potter story by hairyhen_

_Chapter 5: Decisions_

It was, without doubt, one of the worst days of Ginny's life.

The entirety of Gryffindor house sat in silence together in the common room. No one spoke, but they all knew why they were there--to remember, and to try to heal after what had happened that morning.

At least twenty students had died in the attack, many of them Muggle-borns, and more had been seriously injured. Colin Creevey and his brother Dennis were both dead, killed as they fled from the giants, and Ginny's friend Jeanne had been sent to St. Mungo's with severe nerve damage. Several younger students had received the Dementor's Kiss. Almost no one had been able to do the Patronus, paralyzed with fear by the cloaked spectres of darkness.

As she looked around the common room at her housemates, Ginny reflected that being here ought to have made her feel closer to everyone, since they were all suffering in some way from what had happened. But instead, she felt so far removed that she might well have belonged to a different species.

She shook her head violently. It was no good; she had to get out of here.

No one protested as Ginny got up and made to leave the common room through the portrait hole, despite it being already after curfew. She passed Dean, who was to have had his first date with Jeanne today, and saw Ron and Hermione sitting together near the fire, holding each other close. Were they thinking of Harry, their best friend of six years, now gone forever? Had his loss affected them as much as it had her?

With sudden violence, Ginny pushed open the portrait hole and began to wander off down the corridor. She didn't have any clear idea where she was going, but knew only that she could not bear to remain there with everyone else any longer. A wave of hot, sickening anger was coursing through her. How many of the people sitting there really cared that Harry was gone forever? The useless Order certainly didn't . . . and who among those who did care could possibly fathom what she was feeling right now?

On some level she knew it was ridiculous to think that way, but at the moment Ginny didn't give a damn whether she was being rational or not. Harry was gone, she would never see him again--and it was all her fault.

Despite Hermione's words to the contrary, she knew it was true. She hadn't been able to do the Patronus, she couldn't save him from the dementors . . . because of her weakness, he had been doomed to drown in his own despair . . . the dementors affected him so strongly . . .

Ginny knew that she had been a source of comfort for Harry over the past year. She had helped him overcome his guilt and grief over Sirius' death, and gradually they had become close friends. Very close friends . . . Ginny thought she had never seen Harry happier than he had been in the past few months. The way his face seemed to come alive every time he looked at her, lit up by a brilliant smile of a kind she'd only ever imagined, years earlier--

How had she never seen it before? It was painfully obvious now, now that he was no longer here, how he had felt about her. She remembered how he had pursued her into the Forbidden Forest on his Firebolt, and how they had plummeted to the ground from their brooms. It had been one of the strangest moments of Ginny's life, to be lying there in the forest of all places, with Harry directly on top of her, crushing her to the ground and staring at her with those brilliant green eyes of his, eyes that could pull her in and never let her out again . . . and she wouldn't have objected . . .

Indeed, some part of her, a part she'd buried so deeply she hadn't even known it was there, had wanted nothing more than to pull him down to her and kiss him right then and there, kiss him until he could not remember who he was, until all thoughts had failed them and they were crying out each other's names in ecstasy . . .

Ginny drew in a series of gasping breaths as the full weight of her thoughts slammed into her. She'd put it down to hormones, rationalized and explained the incident away, trying to put the memory out of her head--why?

She had never felt that strongly about anyone before. Dating had always been a fun thing in the past, a pleasant diversion of sorts, a way to feel that she was growing up and in control of her own life. But she had never let herself get really emotionally involved with another person that way--her experience with Tom Riddle's diary had prevented her from entrusting anyone with her heart. She blinked furiously, fighting tears at the thought of how he had violated her, and the things she had been forced to do without remembering, until the dementors had brought them to the surface today . . .

But in talking with Harry, she had found someone who could understand her, in a way no one else ever had. Harry wasn't like Riddle, Harry would never abuse her trust . . . She and Harry had grown so close over the year--but she'd been so convinced he would never have romantic feelings for her that she'd blinded herself to what was happening between them, until it was too late--

How could she have failed to see how much she truly cared for him? Ginny felt something breaking inside her, something she knew could never be repaired. She stumbled slightly, leaning up against a nearby wall, and sank slowly to the floor, burying her head in her hands. Her body was racked with sobs as the tears she had been holding back for the last hour began to flow.

Hearing the clanking of a nearby suit of armour, Ginny looked for the first time at her surroundings, finding that she was near the same girls' toilet where she and Harry had cursed Malfoy--had it really only been yesterday? It seemed impossible that so little time could have passed. She and Harry had been arguing not ten feet from where she now sat . . . and they'd been arguing this morning too . . . it seemed so pointless now . . . and she remembered that Harry had been about to kiss her just before his scar had flared up . . . she'd been utterly astonished at the look of desire on his face, but she'd wanted so badly for him to finish what the look asked . . .

She'd felt something else then, too, something at once horribly familiar and completely alien. It was as if some great, almost _snakelike_ force, foreign and yet inextricably a part of her, had been rising inside her mind. It had frightened her--and yet it had felt so right, as if part of her were being completed just by looking into Harry's eyes, that she'd wanted nothing more than to give into it entirely. At that instant she had _known_, somehow, exactly what Harry had been feeling--how much he had wanted to kiss her, how their arguing had been tearing him up inside, how jealous he had been when she had mentioned her plans for Hogsmeade that day.

But how could she possibly have known that? Was her imagination simply conjuring up wild hopes and fantasies, trying to deny the finality of Harry's death? No, that couldn't be; she had _felt_ what he felt, for an instant, and he had surely known what she was feeling, as well--

The irony was almost laughable. Ginny let out a strangled cry, hugging her knees close to her chest. She had tried so hard to get over him, to put all thought of romance with Harry out of her head, and she had succeeded--only to have him become a greater part of her life than ever before. Try as she might, she could never be indifferent to Harry.

But now he was gone . . . now she would never know the taste of his lips on hers, would never again hear him murmur her name with such reverence, would never look into those beautiful eyes again . . . Her chest heaving with emotion, Ginny wondered if she would have been able to do the Patronus if they had kissed before his scar attack. She had fancied herself a sort of guardian for Harry, emotionally, but at the moment it mattered most, she had failed him utterly, letting him succumb to his greatest fear . . .

The mewing of a cat interrupted her thoughts. Startled, Ginny looked up, and saw Mrs. Norris glaring at her from a ways down the corridor. The cat meowed again, and she heard a faint wheezing and a shuffling of feet--Filch.

_Damn._

"What's this, my sweet?" said the caretaker as he approached. "A student out of bed? Well, we'll see about that, won't we--"

Ginny was seized by a sudden surge of anger. Filch wanted to give her detention, no doubt. How could he even think about giving punishments after what had happened? Harry was gone, nothing else mattered--she ought to curse the smug look off his slimy face--

She drew her wand, prepared to let loose the most vicious Bat-Bogey Hex in all of history--when some rational part of her mind, pleading for common sense, made itself heard. "_Confundo_," she whispered instead, waving her wand towards the caretaker and his cat. A glazed look came over Filch's face, his eyes seeming to become unfocused for a second. "Move along," he muttered, and shambled off in the opposite direction, Mrs. Norris at his heels.

Ginny breathed a sigh of relief, the anger still pulsing through her veins. She decided to return to the common room, lest she run into a teacher--she didn't think she'd be able to use her wand to get out of trouble with them.

She began to walk back to Gryffindor Tower, hiding herself in the shadows to avoid being seen by anyone who might be passing by. It would have been easier with Harry's Invisibility Cloak, she reflected, but she was quite good at sneaking about unseen even without it--she'd had loads of practice during her time here, and even before she had come to Hogwarts. Hanging out with the twins from a young age had been very beneficial.

The common room was almost deserted when she arrived. As she was about to go up the stairs to the girls' dormitories, she heard a voice behind her, softly calling her name.

"Ginny?"

Ginny was strongly tempted to ignore the voice, for it belonged to someone she had no wish to speak to at the moment--but she turned around, and found herself looking at her friend John Reynolds, the boy with whom she had planned to go to Hogsmeade today. It seemed unbelievable that she could have been concerned with a Hogsmeade date just that morning.

"What do you want?" she asked, more sharply than she had intended.

"Well, I--I just wanted to see how you were doing," said John, seemingly taken aback at her tone. He swallowed nervously, running a hand through his short brown hair, not quite meeting her eyes.

"How do you think I'm doing?" Ginny snapped. A voice in her head was yelling at her to stop, but she couldn't get the thought of their argument that morning out of her mind. He had been angry with her for caring about Harry . . . she ought to curse him for it . . .

Seeing the hurt look on his face, Ginny paused, abruptly realising that she had been about to reach for her wand. She was doing it again--taking out her anger on people who didn't deserve it. She took a deep breath, running through some of the basic Occlumency techniques Harry had taught her a few months before, and felt herself begin to calm down somewhat. The only people who deserved to be cursed were Malfoy and Wormtail, for taking Harry away from her--

"I'm sorry," said Ginny, shaking her head. "I'm pretty upset right now." _Isn't that the understatement of the century_, she thought.

"Yeah," said John. Neither of them of spoke for a moment.

"I wanted to apologize," he continued after a while, looking very nervous, "for being a git this morning. I didn't have any right to say those things I said."

_No, you didn't have any right_, Ginny thought, but said nothing, waiting for him to keep going. When he didn't, she said quietly, "Forget it. It--doesn't really matter anymore. Pretend it never happened." Her voice caught in her throat as she said this, and she looked down at the floor. The whole thing might well have never happened. Everything seemed that way now--nothing that had been important before mattered at all, now that Harry was gone . . .

"You really care for him, don't you?"

Startled, Ginny looked back at John again, and saw that he was watching her closely.

"Yes," she whispered, wiping a hand at her face in agitation. She did not have to ask who he was talking about.

"Well, I just wanted you to know, Ginny, that if he gets back from wherever he is, I won't--I want you to be happy. I wouldn't get in the way." It looked like it was costing him great effort to say this, but the sincerity of his words was obvious. Ginny looked away.

"What do you mean, if he gets back?" she asked, drawing in a shaky breath. "Harry's gone. The dementors took him away. You-Know-Who must have killed him by now, he's been after him since he was a baby--"

"But they don't know that he's dead yet, do they? I'm sure the Ministry will go looking for him, I mean he's _Harry Potter_, isn't he? Someone's got to go after him; they can't just sit around and do nothing."

_Not likely_, Ginny thought, feeling a savage anger at the Ministry and the Order of the Phoenix for doing nothing to save Harry. But she said nothing of this.

"Don't give up yet," John continued quietly. "He might still be alive. And if he is, do you think he's just going to roll over and let You-Know-Who kill him just like that, without giving him the fight of his life first? I read that Quibbler article last year--Harry didn't give up then, what makes you think he's going to give up now? We just don't know yet what happened."

Ginny attempted a smile and nodded. "Thank you," she said softly, and John smiled slightly back at her in return. Quickly he planted a kiss on her cheek. "Good night, Ginny," he said, and departed up the stairs to the boys' dormitories.

Ginny blinked, her thoughts and feelings in turmoil as she walked slowly up the stairs to her own dormitory. She didn't see how Harry could possibly be alive, but hearing John's words had had a startling effect on her. He was right, they didn't know what had happened . . . but why would You-Know-Who have kept him alive, rather than killing him outright?

You-Know-Who had sent the dementors to capture him . . . he'd even had Wormtail there to disarm him, to make sure he couldn't do the Patronus . . . Malfoy had been in on it too . . . Malfoy had taunted Harry about his reaction to the dementors back in his third year . . . what if he had told his father, a Death Eater, about that? The dementors affected Harry so strongly, he couldn't resist them . . . Harry had been learning Occlumency all year, to stop You-Know-Who from invading his mind . . . what if You-Know-Who were using the dementors to try to prevent Harry from using Occlumency? But why would he do that? What would he want to find out from Harry?

Abruptly, the answer came to her, and Ginny felt her eyes go wide with horror at the thought of it. Of course--he wanted the same thing he had spent an entire year trying for last year: to find out the exact wording of the Prophecy. Had he guessed that Harry now knew what it said, and decided to try to find out before he killed him? And if so, how long would Harry be able to hold out?

It was a long shot, she knew, but she couldn't ignore it. Not if there was the faintest, wildest chance that Harry could still be alive.

Ginny knew what she had to do.

* * *

As the screaming died away into silence, Harry struggled to draw breath, feeling his limbs begin to collapse under the strain. He shuddered as a blast of cold air swept over him. It was accompanied by a sound--he'd heard it somewhere before. What was it called?

Wind--yes, that was it. Was he outside, then?

It didn't matter, really. Nothing mattered much anymore. Nothing except fighting . . . he couldn't give in to the pain, despite the cold and the screaming, and the taunting voice . . .

The screaming was growing louder again. But this was a different screaming; it was someone else's voice, not his own. He had heard it before . . . he wanted to hear it again, because it was someone he knew, though he could not remember her face. Who was she?

She was pleading with the voice, trying desperately to save him, and the voice was telling her to stand aside--_no!_ He had heard this before, he couldn't let himself listen to this again . . . but he so wanted to hear her, it was the only time he had ever heard her speak--

The cold was overpowering him . . . Harry felt himself sinking deeper into the black chasm . . . was there ever a time he had known anything other than fear and terror, this cold and icy despair? It seemed impossible that he could have ever known anything else. But surely he had gotten here somehow, from another place. He tried to think, to clear the screaming out of his head. What was the word? _Occlumency_, yes, that was the key, he could keep holding on if he remembered that word. It wasn't a happy thought, it had never been happy . . . what did that mean, happy?

It didn't matter. Whatever it was, it was so far off he couldn't reach it. All that mattered was Occlumency. The screaming voices were fading away again; he was making them go away. But why was he doing it? Why did he keep fighting? Either way he would die, and if he stopped fighting, he could let the pain end so much sooner. What was he trying to accomplish by resisting?

Harry didn't know anymore. Had he ever known, really? He didn't think so . . .

The image of a dark-haired man floated across his field of vision--a man who was falling backwards through an archway. That man had been a victim just as Harry was. He had fought on for a long time, just as Harry was now doing. But what had it gained him? He had died, Harry had seen him die. He was free now . . . how Harry would like to be free . . . he wanted to join that man, who had meant so much to him, he wanted so badly to see him again . . . all he had to do was give in to the screaming and the voice, give it what it wanted, and the pain would be gone . . . he would be able see the man again, and the man's friend, whom Harry had killed, and the woman . . . he didn't know who they were, but he knew they had been important to him--

He could see something else now, another person. It looked like . . . yes, it was a girl, a girl with bright red hair. She had been important to him as well . . . and now she was gone too . . . he would be able to see her again . . . or would he? Was she really dead? He had never seen her die--he had pleaded with her not to be dead, in spite of the awful voice.

The wind swept over Harry, and he tried to focus on the sound of it, instead of the awful rattling breaths coming from nearby. Both were cold, but one of them was worse than the other. The wind was familiar--he could not remember why, but it seemed he must have felt it before, somewhere. It reminded him of being free . . . it reminded him of the girl in red. Who was she? What was her name? Virginia? No, that wasn't it . . .

He could not see her face, or remember who she was, but Harry tried hard to think of her anyway. She was elusive, mysterious, but she was important, he knew that . . . she had something to do with Occlumency, the thing that was keeping him alive, keeping him from giving up completely. If he kept thinking of her, surely he would be able to see her face eventually . . .

And Harry knew he had to keep holding on, no matter what. If only for her sake, he had to keep fighting.

* * *

With the stealth of a cat prowling in utter darkness, Ginny silently climbed the stairs to the boys' dormitories, looking around to see that she wasn't being watched. Approaching the sixth year boys' room, she pulled out her wand, pointing it at the door. "_Alohomora_," she whispered, and the door opened without a sound.

She listened intently for a few seconds before slipping inside. Faint snoring could be heard from one of the beds--probably Neville. Heavy breathing was coming from direction of the other beds as well. _Good_, Ginny thought, slowly padding her way forward, taking extra care not to make a sound. _They're all asleep._ The fact that anyone could sleep after what they had seen that day amazed her, but she wasn't complaining. It made her task much easier.

She had been thinking it over for nearly twenty minutes now, and the more she thought, the more obvious it became that this was the only way. The Order was preoccupied, confused and leaderless in Dumbledore's absence, and the teachers were concerned primarily with protecting the school in the event of further attacks. No, there was no one to do this but her. No one else would even be willing to listen to her.

By the faint moonlight from the window, Ginny could just make out Harry's trunk at the side of his bed. She didn't dare rummage through it, for fear of waking everyone up, which would lead to a lot of awkward questions. A memory came to mind, of the last time she had been in here, searching desperately for something. Impatiently she put the thought aside. She didn't need to dwell on that right now.

"_Accio_," she whispered, aiming her wand at the trunk, concentrating hard on what she wanted. In complete silence, the trunk opened, and two objects emerged, sailing through the air towards her: an aged parchment, and a fluid, shimmering bundle of fabric. Ginny caught them, and made her way back to the door.

A sudden thought struck. What if she were caught, and the map fell into the wrong hands? Wormtail would know how to work it . . . he had helped write it, after all . . . _No_, she thought, her mind made up. For the Marauder's Map to come into You-Know-Who's possession . . . the effects could be devastating. Best to leave it here, then. She didn't really need it, anyway--the cloak would be enough. With a flick of her wand, Ginny sent the map back into the trunk and closed the lid.

A faint coughing was coming from one of the beds. With a pang, Ginny recognised it as Ron's. This might be the last time she ever heard his voice--

With a tremendous effort, Ginny silenced the thought, feeling a lump rising in her throat. _I'll be back soon_, she told herself, not entirely sure whether she believed it or not. She knew Ron would probably try to stop her if he knew what she was planning to do . . .

Quickly she wrapped the Invisibility Cloak around herself and departed from the dormitory, shutting the door behind her. She walked down the stairs to the common room as fast as she could without causing a racket. She didn't want the whole house waking up and coming after her.

The common room appeared to be deserted. Ginny made her way to the portrait hole, an odd feeling rising in her stomach as she went. She was nearly to the portrait hole when she felt herself step on something soft. That something let out a loud croaking sound and scampered off across the room as Ginny jumped back in surprise, nearly losing her balance.

"Trevor!" she exclaimed involuntarily, then cursed herself, looking around to see if she had been heard. If she were caught--

"Who's there?" came a voice from the far end of the common room. _Damn!_ Ginny thought. _Of all the people who could have heard that_--

There was Hermione, all right, emerging from behind a chair where she had been sitting, apparently concealed from Ginny's view. She was coming right towards her. Ginny shrank back to the wall, wrapping the cloak more tightly around herself. Maybe Hermione would just leave . . . but no, of course she wouldn't . . .

"Ginny? Is that you? I heard your voice."

With a sigh of resignation, Ginny pulled off the cloak and turned to face Hermione, who was now standing a few feet away, an odd look on her face.

"Ginny, what are you doing?" Hermione asked.

"I can't sleep," Ginny bluffed, praying desperately that Hermione would let her go without too much hassle. "I fancied a walk. Thinking about--about this morning, you know . . ."

Something in Hermione's gaze softened, for an instant, but Ginny could tell she wasn't satisfied. "But you're still in your clothes," Hermione said, regarding her intently. "And you already went out before. McGonagall told everyone to not to go wandering around. It isn't safe right now, they still don't know how the dementors got into the school, and until they find out, we're not supposed to go around by ourselves. Especially the younger students."

"Hermione, I don't think the dementors are going to be coming into the castle tonight," Ginny said, trying to sound patient, when in reality she feeling anything but. "They got what they wanted this morning, and the castle's all locked up, anyway. Now if you'll excuse me--"

She turned away hastily and made to leave, but Hermione's hand on her arm stopped her. The look of wariness on her face had now become full-blown suspicion. "Ginny, what are you up to that's so important?" she asked.

Ginny let out her breath in a rush. They were wasting time . . . "I'm going after Harry," she blurted, almost before she realised what she was saying. Hermione's eyes widened in shock.

"But Harry . . . Harry's dead," said Hermione, her voice shaking. Ginny cursed herself for the slip.

"We don't know that," she said unsteadily. "No one saw him die, and there hasn't been any news . . . he might still be alive . . ."

"And you're going after him, all by yourself?" demanded Hermione, her voice suddenly harsh. "Even if he is still alive--which he probably isn't, considering V-Voldemort's wanted to kill him for years--you don't even know where he is! How do you expect you'll find him, if even the Order doesn't know where to look?"

"What do you say we should do then?" Ginny shot back, her tone equally hard. "Sit around and do nothing? I thought Harry meant more to you than that."

Hermione flinched. "Don't you dare say that!" she cried, appearing close to tears. "I've been Harry's friend longer than you've even known him! I'd do anything to get him back. But Harry's _dead!_ There's no way V-Voldemort wouldn't have killed him by now." She was breathing heavily, and her cheeks were flushed with a mixture of anger and sorrow.

Ginny opened her mouth to reply scathingly, then closed it again. Her reasoning suddenly seemed much less certain than it had minutes before. Hermione was right--Harry couldn't possibly be alive, it was useless to even think that he could be . . . would You-Know-Who really care about the Prophecy at all, once he had Harry in his grasp? Wouldn't he just kill him and be done with it, rather than risk his escape if someone came to save him? Was it really worth getting herself killed chasing after false hopes and phantom dreams?

Unbidden, words spoken only the day before flashed suddenly through her memory. _I suppose next you'll be telling me I should just sit idly by if another basilisk comes along, so you can deal with that by yourself too . . ._

Harry's words had been spoken in anger, but his real meaning could not have been plainer. He had gone alone to save her from the Chamber of Secrets, when everyone thought she was dead, and he would do it again in a heartbeat. Now it was only right that she should do the same for him . . .

Ginny felt her resolve hardening. She had to go after Harry. There was no excuse for not trying to find him. She would do whatever it took--if she had to curse her way through every last Death Eater, even if she had to duel with Voldemort himself. She rounded on Hermione.

"Everyone thought I was dead in the Chamber of Secrets," Ginny said fiercely. "But Harry came after me. If it weren't for him, I'd be dead now. So if you think for one minute that I'm going to sit by and do nothing while he's out there--even if all I have is a dead body to show for it--"

"So what are you saying?" cried Hermione. "You're trying to fulfil some kind of life debt? This isn't some game--don't you remember what happened last year? We tried to save Sirius, and we ended up getting him killed! What if you get yourself killed?" Her voice broke, and she turned away, trembling. "I couldn't stand to--to lose another friend. I could never live with myself if you died, and I'd let you do it," Hermione finished, trailing off into silence. She appeared to be making a valiant effort not to cry. Ginny took a deep breath.

"I know," she said, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt a surge of sympathy for the other girl. "And believe me, I don't--I know it sounds crazy. But if there's any chance at all he's still alive, I have to take it. Because I--" she paused, not sure what exactly she had been about to say. Because what? She loved him? Was that a good enough excuse for going off on a suicide mission? Did she love Harry? Did Harry love her?

She shook her head. No matter what reason she gave, Ginny knew _she_ could never live with herself if she did nothing. "I have to go," she finished.

But Hermione was shaking her head urgently. "I can't let you do this, Ginny," she said, her voice strengthening. "I'm a prefect, it's my job to uphold the rules--we're supposed to keep the younger students safe--" She seemed to be trying to convince herself that she was doing the right thing. Ginny saw with a sinking feeling that Hermione had drawn her wand. They were wasting time . . . if Harry were still alive, every moment of delay brought him closer to his end . . . she had to save him . . . But she'd never be able to get past Hermione--there was no way she could defeat the DA's best student in a duel.

But there might be another way . . .

Ginny let her shoulders slump in a posture of defeat. "All right," she said dejectedly. She began to walk slowly back towards the stairs to the girls' dormitories.

Hermione was lowering her wand--good. Ginny surreptitiously reached into her robe pocket, trying to find something that she always carried in case of emergency. Her hand closed around one of Fred and George's Skiving Snackboxes, and she raised her hand to her mouth, taking in the chewy substance. She hadn't been able to look it--she'd have to take her chances on what kind it was--

And without warning, Ginny felt her vision begin to fade away as the blood rushed out of her head. She staggered, her knees buckling, and she hit the floor. A Fainting Fancy, then. Quickly, before she lost consciousness, she put the other end in her mouth and chewed, as Hermione cried, "Ginny!" and began to move towards her. Ginny's head began to clear at once as the Snackbox's counter took effect. She reached inside her robes again, using her position on the floor to cover the movement. Taking hold of her wand, she flicked it towards a point at the far end of the common room.

A loud banging sound was heard as a chair flew suddenly into the far wall. Hermione looked wildly towards the source of the commotion--

It was all the distraction Ginny needed. With a speed that startled even her, she was on her feet, her wand drawn and ready. Hermione turned back towards her in surprise as Ginny cried, "_Petrificus Totalus!_"

Hermione's arms and legs sprang suddenly together, and she fell backwards, completely unable to move. Ginny gazed down at her handiwork, feeling a pang of guilt at the look of shock and horror on Hermione's face. _Think of Harry_, she told herself firmly. _Whatever it takes . . . we'll be back soon . . ._

"I'm sorry, Hermione," she said softly, as her friend stared back at her, wide-eyed. "This is something I have to do." _Maybe you'll understand someday_, she added silently. Pulling the Invisibility Cloak around her once more, Ginny made her way back to the portrait hole and out into the corridor.

She had to hurry, as she had made far too much noise in the common room not have woken someone up. Sooner or later, Hermione would be found, and she would tell them what had happened. And she had left the map behind--they could use it to see where she had gone--

Ginny quickened her pace, not really caring how much noise she was making. Speed, not stealth, was essential now. The cloak would hide her if she ran into anyone.

There was a tense moment when she nearly ran into Snape prowling the sixth floor corridor, but Ginny was able to slip past him undetected. She breathed a sigh of relief as she climbed the next flight of stairs, making her way to the seventh floor, where her destination awaited.

As she entered the seventh floor corridor, Ginny felt her muscles beginning to tense up again. She slowed, seeing the portrait of Barnabas the Barmy with the trolls on the wall up ahead. Taking a deep breath, willing herself to be calm, she tried to focus hard on what she needed.

_I need to save Harry_, she thought as she paced the corridor. _I need to find him and bring him back here alive . . . give me what I need to save him . . ._

Ginny stopped, turning slowly around, afraid of what she would see there . . . or what she wouldn't see. If it hadn't worked--if the room hadn't appeared--

It had. Ginny inhaled sharply at the sight of the door, looming ominously where there had only been a blank wall moments before. She'd been afraid it wouldn't work, as there were surely limits on what the Room of Requirement could do. But it was her only hope of saving Harry. Briefly she'd considered thestrals, but it could take hours for them to get her where she needed to go, if they knew how to get there at all--and then she would have to infiltrate Voldemort's lair from the outside, which would present all kinds of problems. No, this was the only way.

She walked towards the door, her hand poised to open it--and paused, uncertain. What would she find in here? Did she really have the courage to see this through? _Last chance to back out_, said a sly voice in her head. Ginny shook her head, remembering her earlier resolve. She had to do this.

Ginny opened the door.

The room, she found, now had a very Spartan appearance. It had taken the form of a small chamber with blank walls, with a single table in the middle. On the table were a number of objects. Closing and locking the door behind her, Ginny crossed over to examine them.

She found a wand and a pair of glasses first, both of which she recognised as Harry's. He had lost his wand in the forest, she remembered, and apparently his glasses as well. She took them and put them in her pocket, then turned back to the table.

Next she found a knife, which contained a number of blades and attachments. With a shock of recognition, Ginny realised that it was the same knife Harry had used on the trip to the Department of Mysteries last year--the knife Sirius had given him. She remembered that one of the blades had been melted by that strange locked door . . . but examining it closely, Ginny found to her surprise that the blade had been completely repaired. She gave a silent thanks to Sirius for his gift to Harry and pocketed it.

There were two remaining objects on the table. The first appeared to be a large box of matches. It was unmarked, but upon opening it, Ginny realised that its contents, while appearing to be matches, were actually something far more valuable.

The last object was the most incongruous of them all. It was an old sock, looking remarkably like the ones from Uncle Vernon that Harry had given to Dobby. Ginny stared at it in confusion for a second. As she watched, the sock began to glow with a strange blue light. Realising, she reached out to grab it, feeling a thrill of anticipation and dread. Would it really work? Did the room really know that Harry was, in fact, still alive?

There was only one way to find out. Wrapping the Invisibility Cloak securely around herself, Ginny tapped the sock with her wand. "Take me to Harry," she whispered. She felt a sudden jerk behind her navel, and then she was gone from the room, rushing forward in a whirlwind of colour and sound, heading towards the unknown.

There could be no turning back now.

_Note: Knowing there are people out there waiting to find out what happens next really is a major incentive to keep going. I'm updating this as fast as I can--I don't want to keep you all in a state of anxiety for too long!  
  
_


	6. Found

**To Save a Life**  
_A Harry Potter story by hairyhen_

_Chapter 6: Found_

The howling wind around her ceased, and Ginny felt her feet come in contact with solid ground. She staggered, nearly collapsing from the force of the impact.

Her wand slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor. She reached down quickly to pick it up, drawing the Invisibility Cloak securely around her. If anyone had heard the noise--

Heart pounding, she held her breath, listening for any indication that she had been discovered--but none came. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she took a good look at her surroundings, feeling a chill run through her at the sight.

What was this place?

It was very old, that much was clear, but beyond that Ginny did not have the faintest idea of where she was. From the appearance of the stone walls and the high, expansive ceiling, it seemed that she must be in a castle like Hogwarts; yet there was something about it that made the hairs of her neck stand on end. This place was _sinister_--dark, foreboding, filled with malice, the air charged with a tension that seemed to penetrate the very essence of her being, weighing in on her from all sides.

Suits of armour lined the corridor where she stood, their dark, faceless masks illuminated only by a faint green glow. Unlike at Hogwarts, there were no torches to be seen; the light, menacing and yet appealing in its softness, had no perceivable source. It did not waver or vary in brightness, yet seemed to pulsate with hidden energy, making it somehow familiar to her . . .

Ginny shivered, the sheer enormity of what she had done seeming suddenly to catch up with her. She was in Voldemort's lair, alone, beyond reach of any outside help, her only hope of escape the Portkey still clutched in her hand. No one had any idea where she was . . . though perhaps if Hermione were to tell the Order what she'd done, they would try to find her . . . but they would surely fail, since no one knew where Voldemort was hiding . . . Ginny felt a pang of guilt at the worry her rash decision to come here would surely cause. Her friends and family would be so upset--

_Think of Harry_, she told herself again, and all thoughts of regret and self-doubt fled from her mind. With luck, she'd be returning to Hogwarts with him very soon.

Looking around, Ginny wondered why the Portkey had deposited her in the middle of this empty corridor. Harry was nowhere to be seen--had the Room of Requirement made a mistake? Was he really dead after all? Or had it intentionally landed her some distance away, so she would not arrive amidst the dementors that were surely guarding him? Yes, that must be it, she decided; it wouldn't do to be Kissed the moment she appeared in front of Harry, before she had a chance to get oriented to her surroundings.

So that meant she would have to search this horrible castle until she found him. Breathing silently and deeply, Ginny set off down the corridor, taking extra care not to make a sound. She was glad she had thought to bring the Invisibility Cloak, as it was her only hope of remaining undetected. She just hoped it would be enough.

Shadows from the suits of armour cast heavily all along the walls. Despite her affinity for sneaking and darkness, Ginny could not repress a flickering of fear. The sight was truly intimidating . . . if they had been enchanted with some kind of Dark spell to destroy intruders--

To her immense relief, nothing happened as she walked past the first armoured figure. Feeling braver, she increased her pace, seeing a great staircase at the end of the corridor come into view.

How she knew Ginny could not quite say, even to herself, but it seemed right, somehow, that she should climb these stairs. Surely she would find what she was looking for at the top. She began to climb, and the staircase curved slowly around as she went. She realised she must be ascending to the top of a tall tower.

Footsteps were coming from up ahead. Ginny flattened herself against the wall, her muscles beginning to tense up. She held her breath as a shadow came into view on the wall, its source becoming visible a moment later: a short, fat man with watery eyes, whose hand was glowing with unnatural light. It was Wormtail.

Ginny gasped in shock at the sight of him--the man whose fault it was that Harry had been captured in the first place. She wanted nothing more than to curse him into a thousand slimy pieces for what he had done--

"Who's there?" Pettigrew said suddenly, peering about in a decidedly rodent-like fashion. Ginny cursed herself. If she couldn't remain silent, she was going to get herself killed . . . silently she drew her wand and aimed it at him from under the cloak. "_Confundo_," she whispered, and the suspicion on Pettigrew's face vanished as a blank look came into his eyes. "Go about your business," he murmured quietly, beginning to make his way down the stairs again. The Confundus Charm had quieted his alarm and suspicion, and he looked neither to the left nor the right as he went. Ginny waited until she could no longer hear his footsteps, then started up the stairs once more.

On and on she climbed, the staircase curving around endlessly, until she was sure that she must have been a mile above the ground. At last, she came to the final step, and knew immediately that she had come to the right place.

The stairs had levelled off into another corridor, this one fairly short. At the end was a large door set in the black stone of the wall. On either side of the door were two stone pillars, enormous snakes carved into them. Their eyes, glowing with the same strange light that illuminated the corridors, seemed to follow her as she approached. Ginny stared back into the eyes, wondering how they could see her through the Invisibility Cloak, if they could really see her at all. Was her mind playing tricks on her? What did she have to do to get through the door? And what would happen if she could not?

_Sirius' knife!_ she thought suddenly. It had been destroyed in the Department of Mysteries, but the Room of Requirement had restored it. She had no idea what its capabilities and limitations really were, but it was worth a shot, anyway.

Pulling the knife from her pocket, she advanced forward to the door. But before she got there, a sudden force erupted between the two pillars, preventing her from going any further. The eyes of the snakes had become a brilliant, sinister shade of green, and a faint whispering could be heard. Ginny strained to hear what the voices were saying. She could not make out any words, but there was purpose and meaning behind them, if only she could listen closely enough to read it . . .

Almost without thinking, Ginny raised Sirius' knife in her hand. _Let me pass._ She was not sure if she had spoken the words aloud or merely thought them. The knife began to glow with a strange blue light, and abruptly the barrier between the pillars vanished. Amazed but relieved, Ginny walked slowly forward, and the stone door slid open, a sudden of gust of cold air flooding over her. Through the door she could see nothing but empty blackness . . . but a faint sound of rattling breaths was coming from somewhere ahead . . .

"_Lumos_," she said quietly, stepping through the door and into the night.

The door slid closed behind her. Ginny raised her wand, shining its light ahead of her, and felt a chill as the wind swept over her body, cutting through the robes she wore. But that was nothing compared to the ice that was beginning to flood her insides, weakening her limbs and filling her with fear. By the light of the spell she could see at least ten hooded figures, cloaked in shadow, and felt their hungry, sightless gaze piercing her flesh.

She could hear Tom Riddle mocking her as she lay dying in the Chamber of Secrets . . . her mother was crying out in agony as Percy tortured her against his will . . . a rooster was squawking and thrashing madly in front of her, struggling to free itself as she wrung its neck . . .

_NO!_ She'd come all this way, she couldn't let herself succumb to the dementors now, not when she was so close to achieving her goal . . . She forced herself to think of Harry, remembered how happy she'd felt as they sat together in the forest all those weeks ago, his arm around her and her head on his shoulder, feeling the warmth of his body against hers, when nothing mattered except the two of them together--

"_Expecto Patronum!_" she cried, a surge of power she'd never felt before flashing through her for an instant. An enormous silver something burst from her wand, falling to the ground and sliding quickly forward, snapping at the dementors as it went. Ginny stared after it in shock, unnerved at the form it had taken.

The dementors were being driven back as the Patronus herded them away from her. Suddenly, they vanished from view, and Ginny heard an awful, high-pitched wailing, which faded quickly as it dropped away into the night. She'd never known dementors to make a sound like that before . . .

The horrible cold was leaving her, and through the dark clouds Ginny could see the stars coming out overhead. She realised that she was outside, on the roof of the tower she had climbed.

She looked once again at the shining silver serpent, which had driven the dementors right over the edge of the tower, meeting its slightly sardonic gaze just before it faded away. At that moment Ginny realised that she didn't care what form her Patronus took. If it helped her save Harry, then that made it one of the most beautiful sights she'd ever seen . . .

Directly ahead of her, Ginny saw a large stone pillar, set in the centre of the tower roof. And chained to the pillar--

"Harry!" she cried, pulling off the Invisibility Cloak and rushing towards him. "Oh God, Harry--"

Harry looked awful--his skin was deathly pale, his hair even more ragged and messy than usual, and there were enormous bags under his eyes. He was completely soaked, as was the ground all around her; evidently it had been pouring rain not long before. Ginny saw with horror that there were severe burn marks on his arms, and he did not appear to be breathing. What had they done to him? What hell and torment had he been forced to undergo?

_Please don't let him be dead_, she thought frantically. If she'd came all this way just to find that he'd already died--

How could anyone dream of doing such a thing to Harry? With a scream of rage and anguish, Ginny drew Sirius' knife and slashed it through the chains on his wrists. Harry's body collapsed at once, deprived of its sole means of support, and Ginny caught him in her arms as he fell, easing him slowly to the ground.

"Harry," she breathed. "Wake up. Please don't be dead. Please wake up . . ." She shook him gently, cupping her hand along the side of his face. His skin was frightfully cold.

A faint moan came from his lips, and Ginny breathed an enormous sigh of relief. He was still alive! She could feel herself trembling as she saw his eyes open.

"Harry," she said again, caressing his face tenderly, overcome with emotion. Harry's eyes seemed to focus, and he looked up at her in wonder.

"Ginny," he rasped, his voice hoarse and dry. "You're here." Ginny smiled at the words. "Yes, Harry, I'm here," she said softly.

Harry's hand reached up towards her, and Ginny clasped it firmly in her own. "I thought I must be dreaming," Harry said faintly. "I couldn't--I couldn't even remember--"

He broke off, as a sudden coughing spell overtook him. He shivered violently, struggling to draw breath, and Ginny felt as though her heart were being torn in two. She pulled him closer, enveloping him in her embrace, trying to put all that she felt for him into that one gesture, to let him know how desperately she wanted and needed him . . .

Slowly, Harry's shivering subsided, and he lifted his head from her lap. Ginny handed him his glasses, and he looked around--probably seeing his surroundings for the first time, she realised. As he was still soaking wet, she performed a drying charm on his robes, which began to steam. Harry regarded the mountains surrounding the castle for a few moments, then turned back to her in amazement. "You came all the way out here to find me?" he asked, surprise evident on his face. "How did you get here? And how are we going to get out?"

"A Portkey," Ginny answered. "Everyone thought you were dead, they didn't have any idea where to look--"

"They must have tried to stop you," said Harry, a very strange expression on his face.

"Yes," Ginny whispered, remembering how nearly Hermione had prevented her from leaving. "But I just knew I had to find you--I could never have lived with myself if I hadn't--"

She broke off, feeling the penetrating stare of his eyes on her, and looked away. "We've got to get out of here." Retrieving the sock from her robes, she extended a hand to Harry, helping him to his feet, and they both grasped the sock firmly.

"That's an interesting Portkey," said Harry, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Ginny laughed. "Don't blame me; blame the Room of Requirement. I didn't pick what it would be." She glanced up at him, and shuddered at seeing the brightness in his eyes. She swallowed, her hand trembling slightly. "You ready?" she asked quietly, and Harry nodded his assent.

Ginny raised her wand, aimed it at the sock held between them. "One, two--"

She never made it to three. Harry's scream pierced the night, and he fell to the ground, clutching the scar in his hands. Ginny stared at him in horror.

"Harry!" she cried, flinging aside the sock and the cloak and taking him in her arms. "Harry, what's happening?"

Harry gasped for breath where he lay on the ground. "Ginny, he's here, he knows," he moaned, looking about him wildly. "Got to get out of--"

A chill of dread ran down her spine. Desperately she lunged for the sock she'd dropped--

"_Incendio!_" said a cold voice, and abruptly the sock burst into flames.

_Shit!_ Ginny quickly pulled her hand back, barely avoiding being burned from the searing heat. The Portkey was destroyed--they had no way out now--

An acrid smell filled the air, and for one wild moment it reminded her of Mundungus smoking his awful pipe. Looking around, she saw a black-robed figure standing about fifteen feet away. Its face was almost completely obscured by the hood, but Ginny saw, to her horror, that there were two faint points of red light where there should have been eyes. She had never seen eyes like that before, but knew beyond doubt that it could mean only one thing . . .

Voldemort.

A paralyzing fear took her, and for a moment Ginny could do nothing but stare at the red-eyed figure. This man had been the cause of so much death, so much destruction . . . the diary she'd confided in had been created by this monster . . . they were going to die . . .

The Dark Lord was looking from her to Harry and back, and it seemed to Ginny that he must be confused by what he saw. For a long moment no one moved as they regarded each other in silence.

Ginny weighed her options. They were, unfortunately, vastly limited. There was nowhere to run, and if they tried to fight, they would surely be killed. If Dumbledore himself could not defeat him in a duel, what chance did they have?

At last, the dark-robed figure spoke, his quiet voice filled with menace. "Well, leaving so soon, are we, Potter? I take it you've had your fill of my hospitality? Now, we can't have that . . ."

"And I'm afraid I don't know who you are," Voldemort continued, fixing his gaze on Ginny, "though I daresay you know who I am. Have you come to join us? We've been having such fun, Potter and I. Though there's always room for more, of course . . . the dementors are not very picky in their appetites, I'm afraid . . ." A sardonic smile was playing on his lips. Ginny felt a surge of anger.

"My name's Ginny Weasley," she bit out, covering him with her wand as she got quickly to her feet, "and I'm not afraid of you, _Voldemort_." It was the first time she had ever spoken the name aloud. She was trying to provoke him, to get him angry enough to make a mistake, to do anything to catch him off guard.

Voldemort, however, merely regarded her with interest.

"Yes, I surmised from the hair that you were a Weasley," he said softly, his unnaturally red eyes boring into her. Ginny stared back defiantly, determined not to show fear or weakness, though in reality she was more afraid than she had ever been in her life . . .

"So you're the one that Lucius gave my diary to," said Voldemort after a moment. Ginny blinked. How did he know--

"Oh, yes, I know all about that, girl . . . your precious Potter had to save you--and now you've come here to save him? How sweet." His mocking laughter echoed all around them, and Ginny cursed herself for her foolishness as realisation struck. Of course, Voldemort was a Legilimens--he could see into her mind with no effort at all. How could she have forgotten that? What other things had he seen there?

She took a deep breath, running through the Occlumency techniques she'd learned from Harry, determined not to give anything else away. If Voldemort found out about the Prophecy from her . . . it would be an unprecedented disaster.

Beside her, Harry was getting slowly to his feet. Ginny shot him a quick glance, remembering that she had his wand in her robe, but did not dare try to give it to him. She had to keep Voldemort busy, until they could find some way to escape.

"You know, there really is something familiar about all of this," said Voldemort, his voice cruelly delighted and almost wistful. "Standing here, the three of us--why, it's just like old times! You even look something like them . . . yes, three times they defied me, the Potters, but I killed them in the end . . ."

He stepped closer, and Ginny was shocked at the grotesque mockery of the human face that she saw there--he looked nothing at all like the Riddle she remembered.

"Harry's fought you before," she snapped, her voice sounding much braver than she actually felt. "And he'll do it again. Even now, you couldn't bring yourself to kill him, because you know you can't beat him, don't you?" Beside her Harry was murmuring something under his breath, his shoulders slumped in a posture of defeat. Somewhere in her head an urgent voice was telling her to stop talking, that she was a fool to tempt Voldemort's anger that way, but she plunged recklessly on. "I know all about you. You're nothing. Just a madman with an ego trip out to prove to world that he's better than everyone else--"

"Silence, foolish girl!" snarled Voldemort, his mocking demeanour abruptly gone. "Don't speak of what you don't understand!" His wand was aimed suddenly at Harry, almost before Ginny had even seen him move. "You think your precious Potter can defeat me? I will show you true power, girl, and the both of you will beg for death before the end! Witness the full power of your glorious saviour against that of Lord Voldemort. _Crucio!_"

The air was filled with the sound of Harry's yells as he fell to the ground again, thrashing about in agony. Ginny watched in horror, feeling her heart being torn into shreds at the sight of him in pain. "No!" she cried. She had to stop this, she had to protect him--

"_Stupefy!"_ she shouted, aiming her wand at Voldemort. There was a loud bang and a brilliant flash of red light--

Faster than she would have thought possible, the Dark Lord waved his wand, swatting the bolt away to one side. He had not even uttered an incantation. Ginny's eyes widened in fear as the wand moved to point directly at her face.

"So, you resist," said Voldemort with an air of mild disinterest, as though he were casually observing the texture of a piece of fruit before eating it. "Apparently I haven't yet convinced you how hopeless it is to defy me . . . perhaps you would like a dose of pain as well?"

Desperately Ginny raised her wand again. "_Everb_--"

"_Crucio!_"

It was pain beyond anything she had ever experienced, beyond anything she could have ever conceived of. A scream was torn from her throat as she collapsed to the ground, her wand slipping from her hand and rolling away. She was sure that her insides were being ripped apart from the force of the spell . . . her entire body must surely be on fire . . . she could hear Harry crying out again in pain of his own beside her . . .

"Now, isn't this interesting?" said Voldemort, his high-pitched laughter echoing all around them as he lifted the curse. "I can torture you both at once, thanks to Mr. Potter's most unusual mind . . . which reminds me, Potter . . . you haven't told me the Prophecy yet. Are you going to tell me what it says, so we can end this game? Or must I resort to more drastic measures?" His voice was suddenly harsh, and Ginny was gripped with fear at the thought of what he could mean. The Cruciatus Curse was the worst thing she had ever felt; she couldn't imagine how it could get any worse than that . . . already she felt as if she would do anything not to feel that terrible pain again . . . they were going to die anyway, they might as well tell him the Prophecy and be done with it . . .

"Let Ginny go," came Harry's voice beside her, broken and defeated. "Let her go, and I'll tell you whatever you want."

Ginny shuddered at the pain and desperation in his voice. _No_, she thought. They couldn't do that, they couldn't give up--

"Don't do it, Harry," she gasped. "Don't give him what he wants!"

"Well, Potter, it seems you have an interesting choice," said Voldemort grimly. "You can either tell me, now, or you can watch the girl die a slow death in front of you. Which will it be, Potter? Don't you see how pointless it is to fight me?"

_So this is the end_, Ginny thought with a mixture of fear and resignation. _I couldn't save Harry, but at least now we'll die together . . ._ She managed to turn her head to the left and met Harry's gaze, his face sick with fear and horror. She drew in a shaky breath as a storm of emotion flooded through her, feelings not entirely her own--

"_Suffoco_."

Ginny choked, fighting for air as her windpipe forcibly constricted. She couldn't breathe . . .

Voldemort was saying something, but she couldn't make out what it was. Her vision was clouding, and she was becoming light-headed, the need for air overriding conscious thought . . .

And then an idea struck, born of animal reserves of fear and desperation. She groped her hand through her robes, searching wildly--and closed it around the matchbox she'd found in the Room of Requirement and forgotten about. She managed to remove one of the matches, raising her hand towards Voldemort.

"Go to hell," she ground out, not completely sure of what she had said or what she was doing. Through the haze clouding her mind she registered a loud bang, and a flash of sickly yellow light--

And then she could breathe again, the curse lifted. Raising her head, she saw Voldemort staggering backwards, clutching his face. Had not the situation been so serious she would have laughed--he had been hit with the most brutal, vicious Bat-Bogey Hex that she'd ever seen. He yelled in pain as dozens of enormous flying bogeys pelted his face with almost unimaginable force.

There was a sudden movement beside her, and Ginny turned to see Harry diving for her fallen wand on the ground. "_Stupefy!_" he roared, aiming it at Voldemort.

Inundated by flying bogeys as he was, the Dark Lord could not block the spell in time. It caught him square in the chest.

* * *

Slowly, Harry lowered the wand, letting out an enormous sigh of relief. Voldemort remained motionless on the ground, the bogeys continuing their assault on his face. Satisfied that they were out of danger, he turned to face Ginny, who was sitting up next to him, clutching her throat and breathing raggedly. "You all right?" he asked. She looked up at him and nodded.

"Nice shot," she said faintly, taking his extended hand and getting awkwardly to her feet.

"You too," said Harry. He eyed the matchstick in her hand. "What is that, anyway?"

"A Mini-Wand," said Ginny. "Fred and George invented them. After . . . after Percy died, they told me they wanted to come up with something so that we could protect ourselves . . . if we were ever caught and disarmed again. These must be prototypes, because the last I heard they were still developing them. I got them from the Room of Requirement." Harry could see her trembling as she spoke. They looked at each other in silence for a moment.

"Ginny, I . . ."

He trailed off. Ginny glanced away from him. "Don't thank me just yet," she said, and there was the faintest trace of bitterness in her voice. "If I'd been smarter we'd be back at Hogwarts by now. I should have used the Portkey the moment I cut you loose--"

Harry exhaled sharply. "Well, we'll just have to find some other way out of here, then."

"Yeah." She looked around, swallowing apprehensively. "But unless you want to jump off the edge of the tower, then the only way off this roof is through that door, back into the castle. And we're up in the mountains--the only way I can think of to get out of here is with Floo powder, if we can find some. But I suppose we've got to try, haven't we?"

She reached into her robes. "I believe this is yours," she said, holding out his wand. Harry took it and gave hers back to her. It felt good to have his wand back--he hadn't felt so powerless since he'd faced Voldemort in that graveyard two years before. Seeing Ginny in pain had been one of the worst experiences of his entire life, and it was only through sheer luck that they'd come out of this alive.

And speaking of facing Voldemort . . .

He turned and looked again at the Dark Lord, sprawled over the ground ten feet away, and then down at his wand, held tightly in his hand. _And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives . . ._

"Harry?" came Ginny's concerned voice from behind him. He shivered, but did not reply. Should he do it? He had him now, completely at his mercy. Two words and he could end it, rid the world of this great evil once and for all. There might never again be such an opportunity.

But to kill him like this, powerless and unaware . . .

Voldemort had cheated death once before, hadn't he? Who was to say he couldn't do it again? The curse might not even work at all. _He shall have power the Dark Lord knows not . . ._

Harry let out his breath angrily. He didn't have any power; he didn't have a clue how to destroy Voldemort any other way than this. But it had to be done . . . just one death, to prevent countless other deaths in the future . . . it was the right thing to do . . . wasn't it?

He never got to make the choice. Ginny gasped suddenly and clutched his arm, and Harry stiffened in shock as the sound of hissing filled the air. An enormous serpent had appeared in front of the stone doors by the far wall, and was slowly making its way towards them. It reared up, baring its long, wicked fangs, and hissed menacingly again. Harry felt a stab of fear as he remembered how this very snake had circled around him in that graveyard, and how he had felt himself inside its body as it tried to kill Mr. Weasley the year before.

He raised his wand defensively, taking a step backwards. "_Stupefy!_" The spell struck the serpent right below the head. Its skin shimmered and glowed where the spell had hit, and a strange rippling expanded outward through its scales--but otherwise there was no effect. The serpent hissed angrily, and abruptly turned around and slithered quickly away from them. With great speed it reached the Dark Lord, still unconscious on the ground, and lowered its head towards him, appearing to sink its fangs into his neck.

Harry gasped as he realised what was happening. "Run!" He and Ginny made a dash towards the stone door, which slid open as they approached. His scar flared with sudden pain--

"_Everboro!_" he shouted, wheeling around, even as a cold voice said, "_Avada Kedavra!_"

Harry was faster; the Bludgeoning Spell exploded from his wand, catching Voldemort in the stomach. He and Ginny ducked instinctively as the Killing Curse sailed harmlessly over their heads, and was absorbed into the black stone of the door. The Dark Lord grunted in pain as he was hurled backwards through the air, crashing spectacularly into the pillar to which Harry had been chained earlier, and collapsed to the ground. He seemed to have been winded, but doubtless he'd be on his feet again in a few seconds--

"_Accio!_" cried Ginny, and Invisibility Cloak soared into her outstretched hand from where it had fallen. "Come on!" she said urgently, grabbing hold of his arm and pulling him unceremoniously through the door. As they passed between the two stone pillars lining the door from the inside, a high-pitched wailing sound was heard, and glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw that the eyes of the snakes carved into them were shining with a brilliant, sinister green light. His heart was pounding frightfully as they ran, on and on, down the curving staircase.

After what seemed like hours of running, they reached the bottom the stairs. Harry looked around, trying to catch his breath, his eyes taking in the imposing armoured figures lining the corridor ahead of them, wondering at the dim light that seemed to have no source but the air itself.

"What now?" he said, turning towards Ginny, who also was looking at their surroundings.

"I don't know!" she said, her face stricken. "The Portkey brought me in right over there," she pointed at a spot a ways down the corridor, "but I don't know where we should go now. I don't know what the rest of this place is like."

"Well, we can't stay here, anyway, or we'll be found," said Harry, fighting to remain calm despite the whine of panic threatening to overwhelm him. "We'll have to make sure no one sees us, or we won't have a chance in hell of getting out. Give me the cloak." She did, and he wrapped it around them both. "Let's go," he said softly, and they set off down the corridor, taking care to be as silent as possible.

As they reached the end of the corridor, Harry's scar began to burn. He stopped, wincing, and clapped his hands to his forehead, struggling not to cry out from the pain of it. The cloak nearly slid off them as Ginny turned towards him in surprise, not having stopped when he did. Quickly she wrapped it around them both once more.

"Harry? What is it?" she asked in a whisper. "Your scar?" He nodded silently.

"Voldemort's angry," he muttered. It was about their escape, of course, but beyond that he could not tell what specifically was going on.

A sudden idea occurred to him. The scar connection had been diminished from all the Occlumency he'd been doing lately--but with Voldemort's repeated attempts to invade his mind, it seemed to have opened up again somewhat. Always before it had been Voldemort who took advantage of the connection, using it against Harry for his own purposes . . . but perhaps if Harry could open himself up, he could do the same . . .

He took a deep breath, willing himself to be calm. He'd been putting so much effort into protecting himself that the idea of going the other way was frightening. But if he could just do it a little bit, Voldemort might not ever know he was there.

He closed his eyes, remembering how it had felt to be in Voldemort's head, all those times he had dreamed of him unobserved. And then it came to him--flashes of imagery and sound, whirling by at high speed . . . an angry, shouting voice . . . a group of masked figures standing in a circle . . . his scar was hurting as a sudden rage swept over him . . .

Gasping, Harry broke the connection, forcing his mind to go blank once more. The pain in his head began to fade. That had been very close--at the last instant Voldemort had felt his presence, but Harry had blocked him out before he could locate them.

"Harry?" came Ginny's voice again. He swallowed, blinking the wetness from his eyes.

"Voldemort's summoned all the Death Eaters to him," he whispered back. "He's sending them after us right now." He did not mention that he had come very close to giving them away.

Ginny's eyes widened. "We'd better get going, then." She looked around. "Which way?"

Harry looked, and saw that the corridor had intersected another ahead of them. "We'll try the right, I guess," he said quietly. Ginny nodded, and they set off again, turning and continuing on to the right. It looked almost identical to the corridor they had just left.

Harry felt as if his senses had gone into overdrive. He could feel Ginny's body pressing against his, could hear her breathing heavily next to him. He shivered, his own breathing ragged, his limbs charged and tense. Something prickly seemed to crawling all over his skin. The air was oppressive, weighing in on him heavily. He felt confined under the cloak, knowing that their lives depended on remaining silent and unseen.

How much longer could they keep this up? Harry had no concept of where they were, had no idea where they would be able to find a place to Floo out of here. If they couldn't find an exit, they'd be stuck here forever, just waiting to be caught . . . if only he knew how to Apparate, or to make a Portkey . . .

His scar was hurting again. He took a steadying breath, running through his Occlumency exercises. The pain lessened, and he felt himself become slightly calmer. It was essential that he keep Voldemort out of his mind, or else he'd be able to Apparate right in front of them--and then they would surely die.

Footsteps could be heard approaching from behind. Harry looked at Ginny, who was staring right back at him, a look of horror on her face. Quickly they moved to the side of the corridor, flattening themselves against the wall next to a suit of armour. Harry eyed it warily for a moment, then turned his attention to the figures entering the corridor.

There were four of them, hooded and masked, their wands drawn and ready as they advanced. Harry heard voices, and strained to hear what they were saying.

"They can't have gotten far. The Dark Lord said they were up in the tower not ten minutes ago," said one.

"They'll never make it out of here alive. They don't know where they're going--it's only a matter of time before we find them," said another. Harry's head bolted up in shock as he recognised the voice of Bellatrix Lestrange.

He felt himself shaking, his grip on his wand almost painfully tight. How he would like to hurt her for what she'd done . . . he had the element of surprise, he could take them all down right now . . .

A hand settled itself over his, and he turned his head to see Ginny looking at him, an unspoken warning in her eyes. Harry let out a long, slow breath, nodding at her to show he understood. Some of the tension left him.

The Death Eaters were passing them now, continuing on in the opposite direction. They were had nearly rounded the corner when one of them turned around. "What's the snake doing?"

Harry froze. Then, very slowly, he turned his head to the right, towards the place the Death Eater was pointing at. He barely managed to stop himself from yelling in fright.

Nagini, Voldemort's giant serpent, was sliding smoothly along the floor not ten feet from where they stood, smelling the air with forked tongue. And furthermore, despite the Invisibility Cloak, its hungry gaze was fixed squarely on Harry.

The Death Eaters were coming back towards them, their wands raised, and Harry could not think, could not move for fear. They were trapped . . .

He could feel Ginny trembling, tightening her grip on his hand, and he squeezed back with a reassurance he did not feel at all. What were they going to do?

He had no idea.

_Note: I once again thank **St. Margarets** for helping me to make this chapter the best it could be. It's always fun to talk about the ethics of revenge and killing, from Harry all the way to Dostoevsky. Credit for the Mini-Wands goes to the twin goddesses **ivy & Gracie**, who allowed me to borrow the concept. The idea first appeared in their excellent fic, "Where the Light Is", which can be found at the Sugar Quill._


End file.
